Derp Souls: Prepare to WTF
by Theseus12
Summary: What happens when the Chosen Undead... is a gamer who's played Dark Souls? Well, he decides the Age of Fire/Age of Dark options aren't good enough, and carves his own fate. Current Arc: The Exile
1. Prepare to Die? I'll pass, thanks

Author's Note: Before you get to accusing me of ripping off another fanfiction author, YES I AM AWARE OF THE FANFICTION DARK SOULS: DERP EDITION. NO, I AM NOT RIPPING HIM OFF. In fact, I would say that that well written story is what inspired me to write something silmilar. That out of the way, lets start this bitch.

Chapter one: Prepare to Die? I'll pass, thanks.

The sun shone. albeit dimly, on the world of Lordran. The First Flame had begun to fade once more. A thousand years after Gwyn sacrificed himself to the Fire, it started to fade. The light fell on a crumbling ruin, high on a mountain in the North. The crumbling prison was packed with the Undead, a resort taken by the Way of White long ago. Inside one of the cells, a lone being sat up. "Ugh," he groaned softly. "Note to self. Don't eat breakfast pizza and have root beer right before bed." He quipped this, for his sleep was awful. "Or maybe I need a new bed. The springs were..." His voice trailed off as he opened his eyes, and noticed his situation. "What in the fuck...?" Large stone walls, a stone floor. An iron door made of bars was his only exit. Well, unless you counted the hole in the ceiling. The one that was completely inaccessible from his current position. The "bed" he had been resting on was little more than a thin, threadbare rug, with any patterns or colors long faded. It was the same color as the floor; greyish brown. _Where in the hell am I?_ thought the man quizzically. The place was strange, and yet... familiar.

Standing, which took more effort than he believed it should, he stood, and placed a hand on the stone of the wall. "Hm. Too sturdy to even think about trying to break it down. Solid craftsmanship, built to last. Wait a fucking- WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY HANDS?!" His hands were decayed, sunken. It reminded him of an unwrapped mummy, all fluids drained from the body. Starting to panic, he flung two fingers to his collarbone, feeling for a pulse. _I can't be dead,_ he thought to himself. _I can't be-_

If he wasn't dead, then where was his pulse?

Shaking, the lone corpse sank to the ground. "Okay. I'm fine. I need to get ahold of myself. Get my bearings. Get ahold of yourself, Thomas. Get ahold of yourself." A sudden thought struck him. If his hands were rotted... If he was decaying... He started fumbling with his pants, checking his most precious asset, when he stopped, dreading what he may see. "Some things are better left unanswered," he thought to himself.

Then, a body fell from the ceiling. WHUMP! Thomas sprang up at the noise. As he looked up, he saw a knight, looking down at him. The make of that armor. Where had Thomas seen it before... oh. Oh. OH. "Dark Souls." The moment the words left his lips, Thomas shuddered, knowing exactly what lay ahead now. "and judging by all the everything, I suppose that makes me the Chosen Undead. FUCK. THIS. SHIT." For all his swearing, though, Thomas recognized that the key to his freedom lay on that corpse. Literally. Taking the cell key, Thomas unlocked his door, and headed off, picking up a broken straight sword hilt. Looking down at himself, he checked his gear. "Sorceror class, eh? Well, I suppose it could be worse. I could be deprived." The thought of going naked and afraid through Dark Souls with only a stick for a weapon worried him, so thankful he was for that. Plus, he had a long range attack when he got his catalyst. Leaving the docile hollows alone, Thomas proceeded, giving a glance at the Stray Demon in the area beside. He'd have to be careful for any nasty surprises from that one.

He came at last to the Bonfire, and wondered how he would light it. Sure, the animation just makes one hold a hand over it, before boom, but still. There had to be more to it than just that. Staring at the Coiled Sword, Thomas wondered what to do when, of it's own volition, almost, his hand rose over it. _No way it can really be that easy..._ Fwoosh. A small flame leapt forth, almost reaching to half the Coiled Sword's length. "Bonfire lit," he whispered, and immediately sat down. Gazing into the small, fragile flame of the Bonfire, Thomas contemplated his next move. "Probably like I would do in every new game. Fuck the Demon's Great Hammer. I have no need of it. And it's not like I have black firebombs anyway." A thought struck him. What gift DID he have, anyways? He partially hoped it was either the Master Key or Twin Humanities. He did like him some humanities. Patting down his body, he found two pouches at the back of his hips, one just behind his left, another just behind his right. "I suppose that these are my inventory weapon slots?" he joked. One for each hand. Now, how to manage this... Thomas blinked, and a sort of screen popped in his vision, like it was inlaid in front of his vision. Okay fine, that's easy to access, but "Even here the User Interface has to interfere with my vision." Looking at his rings, he noticed it was the Old Witches' Ring. "Could be worse," he muttered. "Could have been the fucking binoculars." He blinked again, and the vision vanished. He'd have to explore this later. At Firelink. But for now...

He stood up, and almost instinctively, he reached for his pouches behind him. His left hand found nothing, but his right pulled out the sword hilt. "Useless", he muttered, tossing it aside. He had no need to keep it, seeing as he knew where some better ones were. Going to the great doors, he gave an experimental push. Stuck. Wait. STUCK? The doors were never stuck. Or maybe that's why the Chosen Undead needed such effort to open them. The doors were flush to the ground, and with doors that large, and that heavy, it actually kind of made sense. Kicking at the door in frustration, he was surprised to see it budge. "All right. Let's try that again..." Lifting his foot, Thomas aimed a precise kick between the lines of the door, and gave a good, solid kick. They didn't slam open like they would for War from Darksiders, but they creaked open, and were loose enough he could push through them, with effort. "All right, with that done..." glancing up on the demon on the roof, he growled. "If you're wise, you'll stay up there..." he muttered, before beginning a jog, which he picked up to a run, and then a sprint. The demon jumped, and landed on the ground with a earth shaking THUD, a roar announcing it's presence. But it was too late to do anything, as Thomas had already taken the little exit from the room. Jogging on, Thomas came to the next Bonfire, and decided to try something different. "How effective of a weapon can it be," he thought. He'd already seen the boss of Dark Souls 3, though he had yet to beat the Soul of Cinder himself in the game. But the idea came to him nevertheless. And besides, this little bonfire was of absolutely no consequence. The only use for it was if you were a new player who didn't want to avoid a boss every time they died. But Thomas was not a new player, and he wasn't going to be dying anytime soon anyways. Gripping the handle of the sword, Thomas lifted.

Or... he tried to. The weapon remained firmly planted. Hmm... Placing a foot on either side of the unlit bonfire, Thomas lowered his body, both hands gripping the handle, and attempted to lift, using his knees. Not his back. _If this works_ , he thought to himself, _I'm going to experiment the hell out of it. Would I get the greatsword? Straight sword? Spear? Curved Sword? Catalyst? All of the Above?_ He lifted, attempting to draw it like some sword in the stone when...

Nothing happened. The sword remained firmly in the ground, unyielding to his pitiful attempts. Multiple theories as to why this is ran through his mind. Maybe he had to be unHollowed. Maybe he could only take a certain bonfire's sword. Maybe he didn't currently meet the stat requirements. Maybe the bonfire had to be lit before he could take it. _Or maybe... just maybe... I can't take it at all._ Damn. Well, it was worth a shot. He'd try again some other time. Some other place. Maybe different circumstances...

He rounded the corner, and looked at the Hollow Archer, seemingly resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to be making any friends here. Thomas charged forward, ducking under an arrow before picking up the leather shield, then charged some more, not sprinting to conserve stamina, but he ran. after observing the archer turn, Thomas blinked, opening the User Interface, praying he didn't trip over something as he quickly equipped the shield. Reaching behind him as he blinked the UI shut, he reached into the pouch at his left hip. It felt empty, and yet his hand closed over a handle nevertheless, and he pulled the shield out of a pouch much too small for it. _I have got to figure out that magic trick_ , he thought to himself. That would have to come later, however. As of now, he scooped the short sword from the ground and reopened the UI, equipping it as well. Armed and at least slightly dangerous, Thomas drew his weapon, a sheath for it appearing at his side as well. Not pausing to contemplate, he rounded the second corner, narrowly missing another arrow as he bolted up the stairs. Turning his sword so that he held it like a dagger, he gave an uppercut motion with his sword hand, slicing upward at the Hollow, which tried to use it's pitiful bow as an acceptable excuse for a defense. Phah. He cleaved through the bow, and sliced into the unprotected chest of the Hollow. Leaning back, using his upper body as a counterweight, he lifted his leg, coiled it to his body like a snake, and then lashed out, crunching his boot into it's ribcage. Ragdolling, the living corpse smashed it's head against the floor. Thomas quickly moved over, and stepped on it's weapon arm, as it was reaching for a sword hilt. Time to finish this. Raising his blade again, he stabbed it into the Hollow's forehead. Standing, the Sorcerer drew his blade from the corpse, examining the weapon for any blood to clean off before sheathing it. That's when he saw it.

A pale mist, rising from the multiple wounds the Hollow suffered, which funneled together, and bolted at him. Stumbling backwards, Thomas fell on his butt as the mist entered him, passing into a hole at his neck that he didn't even know was there. With the mist entered, Thomas felt stronger. Not much, maybe, but just a little bit. Why was this? "Souls," Thomas muttered. _"Sovereignless souls will become thy strength."_ A line of dialogue from the Dark Souls 3 Firekeeper. Sure, this was Dark Souls 1, not 2 or 3, but the line remained accurate. Thomas shook his head. "I'm an idiot. Of course those were souls. What else could they be? The Abyss? Candy Corn?" Standing, Thomas moved towards a staircase, a large rock ready to slam into him, he knew. It'd be the only way to get Oscar. So he baited the rock, and the Hollow waiting to push it. As the rock rolled by, Thomas watched the wall crumble. "Oscar's not going anywhere," he muttered, "But I have a loose end with the Hollow." He strode up the stairs, eyes dark with determination as the mindless hollow looked on. When he got close enough, the creature raised it's blade, and swung. Lifting his shield, Thomas caught the blade and, with a bit of redirection, parried it. He then carefully angled his sword, aiming the blade, and stabbed, the tip puncturing the Hollow's throat. Kicking the undead off his sword, Thomas turned, satisfied, though he did shudder slightly as he absorbed more souls. _I'll get used to this little thing eventually, I'm sure._ Stepping into the previously sealed off room, Thomas took a moment to admire the setting. Dark, save for a single light, falling onto a tragically broken man in his final moments. _Miyazaki, you sure could make a death poignant..._

"You..." Oscar of Astora looked up at Thomas. "You're no Hollow, eh?."

"No. I'm quite human," Thomas replied. He came closer, kneeling on one knee, his sword sheathed at his side. Thomas knew without doubt that this man was doomed. VaatiVidya was clear on the Hollowing process. It wasn't so much the brokeness of his body that doomed a man. It was the very spirit. When all purpose in one's life was exhausted. All hope lost.

"I'm done for, I'm afraid. I'll die. Soon. Then... I will lose my sanity." Oscar began, solemnly. He knew his own fate as well as Thomas did. "I have failed," Oscar said, more to himself than to Thomas, when he reached out, suddenly gripping Thomas' arm. "We're both Undead, you and I. Please, hear me out. I beg of thee."

Thomas put a hand on Oscar's gauntlet. "I knowest of thine mission, Oscar of Astora." Thomas didn't know why he started speaking like some Shakespearean nut, but whatever. He felt it appropriate. As though reciting from a memory older than he, Thomas spoke. _"Thou who art Undead, art chosen. In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh Pilgrimage to the Land of the Ancient Lords. When thou ringest the Bells of Awakening, the Fate of the Undead, thou shalt know."_ Oscar sat up.

"How camest thee upon my name? I gave it not."

"That is because I know already. I was gifted with... a measure of foresight." Thomas responded. Yeah. Foresight. Let's call it that. Better to write it off like that as opposed to explaining that, where he was from, the dying man he was talking to didn't even really exist. "I know of your fate. You fall here, defeated by a demon, but offer a mission to an undead who, incidentally, happened to be me. After a brief conversation, you finally pass. This is your fate." A thought struck him. "Unless you seek to change it."

Oscar lifted his helm's visor, and Thomas could see the hollowed face of the man. "How? How does one know all this? Wherefore did a Prophet come unto Lordran, unto me, in my last hours?"

Thomas simply shrugged. "Such knowledge is, unfortunately, beyond my vision at present. I know this, however. You only will Hollow, if you lose all sense of purpose. By passing your purpose to me, you would have exhausted all else left unto you. Unless you seek to change it."

Oscar stared. "What do you mean, change it? My purpose? My fate?"

"Yes, and yes." Thomas thought for a moment. "What if I told you that you can defy your fate, and that you can reach the land of the Ancient Lords. What if I told you that even the Chosen Undead must not go alone. What if I told you that your destiny is yours to command, and not mine or anyone else's?" Standing, Thomas spread his arms wide, as though he was doing the "Well? What is it?" emote, but he was less condescending. "Thou'rt a Knight of Astora," he cried, voice slipping into the old tongue once again. "A great warrior, amongst a proud and mighty people. Thou be'st undead, but this meanest only that thou may try without ceasing! That where others would but fall, thou wilst rise once more, to challenge thine foe again and again until they lie beaten and broken beneath your boots! Proud Knight of Astora, I bid thee rise, and take up thine sword. Your doom would be to fall here, in the dark, forgotten and alone. I say no! Taketh thine fate, and cast it aside. Embrace a new fate. One of glory in the incandescant rays of the Sun!" As the sorcerer spoke, his voice rose. Soon, the Asylum echoed with the sound of his voice. The power of his proclamation. Oscar stumbled upward, pulling out a small green flask and taking a sip. He still leaned on the wall, but at least he stood.

Thomas raised his hands upward, his feet coming together as he stood on his toes, his arms making a V as he looked Skyward in a gesture that needed no name. Completing the stance, Thomas normalized his posture, lookin at Oscar. "To think," the knight spoke. "The gods saw fit to send to me a man who was not just a prophet, but a prophet with such a gilded tongue..." reaching out, Oscar gripped Thomas' arm. "I wilt follow thee. To the depths of the Gravelord and back, if need'st be."

 _Apt oath, that one,_ Thomas thought to himself. They'd have to face Gravelord Nito eventually. But for now... "Come. We've got a demon to fight. And, you have some payback to deliver. He won't know what hit him. Until I tell him."

As the pair went up the stairs where the rock rolled down from, Thomas offered his "foresight". "Okay, past that door, we'll come around a bend. There will be three hollows. Two with broken swords, one with a bow."

"The one with a bow should prove no match against my shield."

"True. But we can even the odds even further. The archer tends to stay where he is, while the others can be lured out from under his cover. Then, after we deal with the two hollows, you can turtle up, and take down the archer. Sound like a plan?" Thomas held out a fist for confirmation.

"Sounds like a good plan. Why is your hand out like so?"

Right. He should probably explain fistbumps. "Well, to be frank, it's a culture thing from where I am from. You bump your fist with another to show agreement, camaraderie, general awesome and good vibes." The fist remained offered.

Tentatively, Oscar bumped the fist. "Hm. Your culture is strange... Prophet, I never did get your name, or homeland."

Another "Oh, right" moment for him. "Well, I'm Thomas, of..." He had no idea what to say here. His hometown from the Real World? His state? His country? Planet? He could probably say "Oklahoma", "Earth, "Midgard," "Hyrule," fucking "Dunkin' Donuts", and it would be equally valid to Oscar. "Thomas, of Earthrealm." Yeah. A Mortal Kombat place. Sure. Why not.

"Earthrealm. Explain what the land is like. I have not heard of it."

"Later. We still have a task before us."

"Right."

They walked forward, when Thomas held up a fist, signaling a halt. Creeping to the wall alone, Thomas peeked around at the other side. "Peek-a-boo, motherfuckers!" he shouted at the Hollows. As predicted, the two melee ran forward, while the other drew an arrow, firing at him. But he had already gone, backing towards Oscar as he grabbed a sorcerer's catalyst by the walkway. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter," Thomas chuckled to himself. "Pardon me?" Oscar asked. Thomas waved it aside. "Nothing," he said, drawing his sword. "Inside joke." He pointed his catalyst at the first Hollow, a bolt of blue energy flying forth as the Soul Arrow ripped into the Hollow's skull, causing it to explode. Oscar went to work on the second one, charging into it with his shield up, and crushed it against the wall. As the body slumped downward, Oscar slashed it with his Straight Sword, just to make sure. Raising his shield, he then pressed onward. The plan dictated that he lead, and take on the archer. Thomas stood behind, sword and staff ready.

To be honest, not much needed done by the Sorcerer, as Oscar had the situation totally in hand. All arrows bounced uselessly off his Crest Shield, and the sword made short work of the pitiful archer. "Now, for our next step," Thomas said. "We're going to kill an armored Hollow, and I'm going to take his shield. It won't be much, but at least the 100% physical damage protection will be useful. Will carry me for some time. And who knows, maybe this one will have an estus flask on it."

"You don't have one?" Oscar asked, almost shocked that someone so apparently wise had not the most useful item an undead could ask for. "Duh," Thomas responded. "If I allowed fate to take it's course, I would have one, but you'd either be dead or without a flask yourself. But thankfully, a large amount of undead also carry a flask. Surely, I can... convince one to part with it." At this, Thomas gave off a dark chuckle. Facing the shield bearing undead, he motioned to Oscar to be at ease. "I got this." He shot a bolt at the undead, which effectively got it's attention, and he pulled out his shield. Parrying the strike, Thomas then kicked it in the chest before following with two slices. One went upward, from the Hollow's left hip to it's right shoulder. Thomas then spun counter-clockwise, two handing the weapon as he sliced downward, from left shoulder to right hip. Worn metal slightly dented, an X shaped wound on it's chest, the Hollow fell backward, pulling a green flask out. _Now!_ Thomas charged forward in a burst of speed, and chopped upward with his blade, aiming for the shoulder. Catching the hollow in the armpit, Thomas continued the cut, and sliced the arm off at the shoulder. Picking up the dull flask, Thomas turned it downward. "No estus, eh? I'll just have to refill at Firelink." Thank the gods he was below 25% equipment load. "Now. A Demon." Blinking the UI into his field of vision, Thomas alloted the empty estus flask in it's normal spot: The very first slot on the Utility Belt. Picking up the Hollow Soldier Shield, he assigned it in place of the leather shield, and then blinked out. "Ready?"

Oscar nodded. "All right. Follow my lead." Thomas walked through the fog door, looked down at the Demon, and leapt. "EARTHREALM!" Landing atop the Asylum Demon's head, he stabbed downward, momentum lodging the blade in deep. The demon gave an earth shattering roar as Thomas hitched his shield on his back, and used both hands to draw the blade out. Exulting in the moment, Thomas then punched the wound, adding insult to injury. Unfortunately, this had a side effect; the beast threw his head backwards, and Thomas rolled down the not very smooth back, falling flat on his face. "Ow," he whimpered. He rolled onto his back, and saw the shadow of the demon over him, hammer raised to crush him flat. _Move,_ his mind told his body. _MOVE!_ He moved, rolling aside as the blow landed right next to him, causing him to flinch. His sorcerer's garb was simple cloth. It would provide no protection against such a weapon. _Been a while since I died to the Asylum Demon._ Then another shadow appeared. "ASTORA!" Plunging from the balcony, Oscar followed Thomas' lead, stabbing it in the head with his own blade. Getting up, Thomas switched out his shield for his catalyst as he backed away, firing Soul Arrow after Soul Arrow.

It was almost tragic, really, the fate of the Tutorial Boss. Two plunge attacks, and a shower of Soul Arrows, and it was quickly reduced to naught. Souls rushed into Thomas' Dark Sign, and both he and Oscar recieved a Humanity for their efforts. Thomas looked into his Humanity, peering into the depths of the fragment of the Dark Soul, and then popped it. It was an... odd sensation. For a brief moment, he felt a little clearer. His body felt a little warmer, even if just a moment. "Sorcerer?" Thomas turned to Oscar. "Now what?" Thomas reached into his pocket, and pulled out the Big Pilgrim's Key, automatically added to his inventory when the demon died. He grinned. "Now, the real adventure begins."


	2. Early Game Preparations

((Author's Note: This one won't have much to it, I'll admit. Basically a filler chapter before I have the adventures properly begin. Also, can't have Thomas be perfect at everything, without some good old fashioned bad luck to formally welcome him to Dark Souls. Casul.))

Chapter 2

Early Game Preparations

Thomas knew this much: He hated being flown by giant, winged birds. This fact was made most abundantly clear when the crows came, one for Oscar and Thomas each, and grabbed them, taking them to the land of the ancient Lords. His heart sunk, his stomach churned, and the fact that he was dead didn't mean that, should the crow drop him by accident, the landing would not hurt. Pain still functioned, he knew, as though some cruel joke. "Hey, you can't eat anymore, you can't take a relaxing shit. You can't even feel death anymore, because you're semi immortal, but damn you can enjoy getting the fuck crushed outta you by Smough's hammer, when the time comes! Aren't you lucky!" Yeah. Real fucking lucky. Just thinking about having to fight the Super Londo Brothers, REALLY fighting them, made him nervous. Shit would go badly, he was certain. Opening his eyes, Thomas made a mistake, and looked down.

They were still miles above ground. But damn if Thomas didn't suddenly want to write "Gorgeous View!" with an orange soapstone right now. It was incredible. "God..." Thomas took a moment to take a picture of this in his mind. Lordran was beautiful, in it's own way, ruined as it was. He admired the view for a moment, then the crow lurched downward, swooping him into Firelink Shrine, and dropping him, without a trace of grace to it.

PLOP

Thomas was reminded, again, that pain was a reality. It shot up his knees, in particular, as well as the small of his back. Straightening, Thomas surveyed the ruined shrine. Crestfallen was at his post, moping into the Bonfire. Petrus of Thorulund was outside of Thomas' immediate sight, but he could guess his location. The Firekeeper was in her little cage, as the lit bonfire attested. Thomas frowned. Anastacia really shouldn't have to be there. If he could figure out a way, one of the first things he'd do is break open her cell, and let her out. Off to the side was an alcove with a statue of a woman, holding a small child. The small child held an Astora Straight Sword in it's hands, which Thomas found strange for an infant to hold, but then, Dark Souls was not one to coddle. The statue overlooked a pool, which Thomas knew, underneath, a bottomless pit resided, in which dwelled Frampt, the primordial serpent. Thomas already knew what he was going to say to THAT manipulative worm. He was going to tell him exactly where he could stick his false "succeed Lord Gwyn/Become the next Great Lord" narrative that actually translated to "Set yourself on fire for eternity." Wait, do primordial serpents even have asses to stick stuff in? He shuddered. Let's not find that out just yet.

Clangle!

The sound of Oscar falling next to Thomas made the latter jump at the sudden arrival of the former. "Let's..." Oscar started, trying to find his breath. "Let's not do that again." Thomas shook his head. "I'm no fan either, but I'll have to go back to the Asylum later. Only way I can get to Priscilla. I am NOT not stroking that tail." Oscar gave an incredulous look to the sorcerer, an impressive trick considering his helmet still covered his face. "What in the name of the Lords are you referring to?" Thomas waved it aside once more. "Peace. Many things that are mysterious will be made clear in time." Yet another dodge on the "I'm not sure how to explain that I'm from another world" front. "Anyways, feel free to chat it up with the warrior over there. I'mma fetch us a couple toys." filling his empty flask with Estus, Thomas trudged off towards the elevator for the Undead Parish. He knew it wasn't working, but that's not why he was going for it. Following a fairly well known route, he looted the chests, getting a talisman, morning star, some cracked red eye orbs that Thomas didn't feel like using, and most importantly, a few Homeward Bones. These were what the sorcerer had come for. "All right, time to be a complete dumbass, and introduce myself to some spooky scary skeletons."

Sliding down the hill, Thomas came upon two skeletons, which began assembling almost immediately. Thomas darted past them, picking up a lost undead's soul as he went. He weaved around more rising bones, and reached a large tombstone, a giant skeleton already rising in front of one of Thomas' targets. The Destroyer of Hosts. The Ender Of Embers. The Phantom Menace (Okay, is it too soon for that pun?). The Bass Cannon. The Zweihander stood impaled upon a shriveled up body, handle sticking upwards. Thomas rolled underneath a swing, and grabbed the weapon. Lifting it, he immediately stuck it in his inventory, and dashed away, narrowly avoiding the skeleton giant's large machete slam. He then ran forward, and grabbed the winged spear. Glancing behind him, Thomas decided there were too many enemies up and about for him to risk going back, just for a pair of fucking binoculars. Not worth it. Reaching into his pouch, Thomas grabbed a Homeward Bone, and immediately snapped it. The world in his eyes seemed to shimmer and distort, and he was in Firelink Shrine once more. "Thomas!" Oscar asked. "Are you alright? People don't use homeward bones unless they're in distress! What happened?" Thomas shrugged nonchalantly. "I went poking about in a graveyard, and the skeletons were unhappy about that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to New Londo.

At this, the crestfallen warrior popped up. "Are you mad? That place is miserable. Filled with Hollows, and who knows what else?" Thomas chuckled darkly. "I know what else. The place is haunted, and tainted by the Dark of the Abyss, which once spread across the land like a creeping fog of poison. But, be that as it may, I need something from there. I'll be back." Oscar stepped forward. "Thomas, let me. If the place is as dangerous as you say, I should go instead." The sorcerer shook his head. "It's a simple fetch quest. I'll be there, and bone out in a jiffy. I know exactly where it is. After this, I'll begin the adventure properly. Trust me. This is best a solo mission." Oscar raised a finger, and then lowered it. "All right," Oscar conceded. "Try and come back in one piece." Thomas chuckled. "I plan to. What's the worst that can happen?" A chill ran through Thomas' body. "Shit," he muttered. "Jinxed, didn't I... Ah well." Thomas decended to the elevator, and proceeded to go down the lift to New Londo's ruins.

Stepping out, Thomas immediately had regrets. He was ready for the sight of New Londo, he had thought. He was wrong. The city was even worse looking than it was in-game. And no amount of preperation, no mental fortitude, and no kind of gag could have prevented, could have prepared him for the smell. A lake of countles cadavers left in standing water for a thousand thousand years, cloying the air with a sickly stench that absolutely left the caster gagging. "Oh god. OH GOD. It smells. It smells so bad. The stink can't possibly get worse." The scent was indescripable. It was... Tainted. Thomas began to seriously contemplate turning around. Forget the soul. It would still be here when he got the Thief Mask from the lower undead burg.

No. Thomas needed that soul, and he needed it quick. He was going to use it and the one in the parish to bargain with Lautrec, if he killed Anastacia. After all, why kill one firekeeper for one soul, when you can get two for less effort? A greedy man like Lautrec wouldn't hesitate, Thomas had no doubt. _Suck it up, and take the damn soul._ Thomas darted down, and started crossing the wooden walkway to the drowned city. He kept his gaze more or less forward, looking down just enough to watch his footing. He didn't want to look into the water, dreading what he may see. Forget Blighttown. This was easily the worst place in Lordran. The mood lighting. The Lore. The enemies. The fucking STENCH. It was so bad Thomas was having to stop, resting his hand on a wooden pole while he took his sorcerer's cap off his head, and used it to wipe his watering eyes with. "I needed to get something here. Something besides the soul..." The boy knew he forgot something important to this place. Whatever it was, the stench drove it out of his mind. He walked across the narrow platform to the Fire Keeper's Soul, somewhat curious on where the hell the ghosts were supposed to-

SSHLIKT!

Thomas looked at the jagged blade sticking out his chest "Oh, look at that," he said, joking through the pain. "I've been impaled." If he could laugh it off, he reasoned, it didn't hurt as bad.. He then looked behind him, at the throng of ghosts filing behind as the spectral dagger was pulled free from his body. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!_ Thomas sprinted for the soul, reaching for the transient curse in his inventory... and came up empty. _SHIT! I knew I forgot something! Okay. Grab the soul, bone out. Grab the soul, bone out. Grab the soul, Bone out._ A good plan. It just needed to be executed quickly, or else HE would be executed quickly. Sliding like a baseball player to avoid the slicing blades, Thomas scooped up the Fire Keeper's Soul, and slipped it into his pocket, his other hand pulling out the homeward bone. But before he could break it, a blade lashed out, severing his hand at the wrist. "SHIT!" The pain was incredible, but that wasn't the worst part. Thomas scrabbled at the bone with his other hand, but both hand and bone fell into the water. "Fuck fuck fuck" Reaching his other hand into his pocket, he pulled out his last homeward bone. Another blade removed that hand as well, then, and his last hope of making it out alive. _I still got the soul, though,_ Thomas reasoned, feeling like that accomplishment made the blunder worth it. What was a few souls compared to the prize he attained? It almost made the pain bearable, when two blades slipped into his sides, up into his ribcage, a ghost pulling towards him.

Thomas looked at the spectral fiend, and allowed himself a look of contempt. "Well," he asked the ghost, it's blade raising towards his throat "What is, it?". It was the last thing he managed before his throat was ripped from his body.


	3. Bargaining

Ch 03

Bargaining's a Pain

"Aguhguh!" Thomas shook himself into a sitting position at Firelink Shrine, causing Crestfallen and Oscar to both jump as well. "Thomas! You've returned!" Oscar looked relieved. Thomas sat up, immediately glancing at his hands. Thank the gods. They were back, along with his neck. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed at it. "Yeah," he muttered. "I managed to get it, by the way."

"Get what?" Thomas held up the Firekeeper's Soul, and Oscar's eyes raised. "How did you know..." The sorcerer gave a chuckle. "Forsight, remember? Trust me on these things." Oscar shook his head. "All right. I'll follow your lead, as ever." Thomas wondered what looked different about Oscar. He looked just fine, in fact. His face was healthy, eyes bright, and... Oh. He was human. Thomas wasn't. The boy knelt by the bonfire, and offered a humanity to the flames. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect that returning to a human state would feel like, but he was certain that he was about to find out.

As predicted, it was nothing like he could expect. His very skin crawled as it restored to life, flesh un-rotting before his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, he would swear that his eyesight became sharper. It was as though there was a thin fog before his eyes, and he didn't even notice it until it had gone away. The world of Lordran was more colorful than it seemed. _Well, okay. Not much more colorful,_ he thought wryly to himself. The lanky strands that substituted for his hair filled out, becoming a long, dark brown mess of actual hair that covered his face and neck. His eyes became clearer, milky whites being replaced with greenish blue hues, his gaze sharp and aware. His lungs filled with air, and Thomas found himself exhulting in this simple action. His first exhale was long, and drawn out, as though he was tasting it leaving his body, and he sighed with it. "I enjoy that simple feeling. Probably more than I should." Experimenting, Thomas put two fingers at his throat.

Nothing.

 _Well, shit. I suppose I can't have everything._ Standing from the Bonfire, Thomas dusted off his sorcerer's garb. "So. What do you say we ring a couple bells?" Oscar glanced at the Crestfallen Warrior. "How did you know there were two bells?" Crestfallen asked. "Prophet stuff," Thomas responded, waving his hand dismissively. Oscar nodded. "Count me in. I have been idle overly long." Thomas laughed, clapping Oscar on his shoulder. "That's the spirit!"

Crestfallen, however, remained depressingly somber. "This salvation you seek. You know it is a fool's errand, right? Surely even you lot recognize that we're doomed to rot." Thomas stopped, and turned for a moment. "I'm going to ask a favor of you," he said, his voice vibrating deeply. "Shut the fuck up. If you want to be a Mister Grumpy Guts, that's your choice. However, you shouldn't be trying to drag everyone down to your level. Let us have some joy." Crestfallen simply glared, but stayed silent. "Good," Thomas nodded, satisfied. "Then we're in agreement." Turning back to Oscar, the duo strode off. Oscar nudged at the sorcerer as they climbed the stairs. "What, in the name of the Lords, was that all about?" Thomas shrugged. "He's always got something depressive to say. Not a fan." Oscar glanced back at the warrior in chain mail. Now that he thought of it, Thomas DID have a point about his melancholy demeanor.

"All right," Thomas said, pulling him out of his reverie. "Time to kill some hollows." Oscar snapped to attention at the possibility of enemies. And sure enough, there some were. Thomas unhooked his hollow soldier's shield from his back, and held it before him, blocking a hollow warrior's broken blade. One quick thrust, and Thomas gutted the undead. Oscar took on the knight, both of them keeping their shields cautiously up. Thomas quickly ascended the stairs, shoving a warrior down the stairs as he passed, and rushed the axe-wielding Hollow. The mindless undead swung the axe with deliberation, but Thomas caught the blow, and turned it aside in a parry. Riposting, he stabbed the warrior in the chest, before kicking it off his blade. Switching his shield out for a catalyst, Thomas fired a quick barrage of Soul Arrows, one at the Hollow atop the second flight of stairs, the other to the firebomber, which had been trying to pelt Thomas, if not for the damn wall blocking it's attempts. Idiot creature. Thomas rolled underneath a firebomb thrown, and came up kneeling next to the undead. Standing, Thomas looked the undead in the eyes.

For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then Thomas shouted.

"THIS."

He drew up his leg.

"IS."

and he let his foot fly, kicking into the undead's chest. "LORDRAN!"

Looking down after the falling warrior, Thomas was pleased in a bit of luck. The warrior fell on the soldier, and both fell tumbling into the cliffside below. Thomas chuckled at his little joke. Shame nobody would get it except for him. Oscar climbed up the stairs, grumbling about the Firebomber's seemingly infinite number of firebombs. "Trust me," Thomas growled in agreement. "Plenty of new players get frustrated by the bastard as well. Don't feel bad. Don't ask." Thomas said the last bit as Oscar was about to ask what he meant by "New players." That was something Thomas didn't want to get into. Hell. He didn't even know how he was going to go about changing the timeline. In the end, it all came down to either someone linking the fire, and thus extending the Age of the Gods, or nobody leading the age of fire, and the age of Dark beginning. _And it's not like I can throw a more powerful bit of fuel in the fire. Gwyn's soul was just a standby anyways, and he was the most powerful of the gods._ Thomas pulled out his winged spear for extra length, and ran the rat through at the top of the stairs. _I suppose I'll deal with that hurdle. For now, let's ring some bells._

The events with the hollows remained rather uneventful. Thomas proved his "foresight" a couple times, in that he really just gave the locations of where all enemy troops were. Oscar spoke up. "How will I keep from becoming complacent, if you can so reliably issue troop movements?" The seer then gave a chuckle that seemed altogether too dark for his liking. "Don't worry, Oscar, I know just the thing." Giving another chuckle, Thomas gestured. They came at last to a walkway. They almost reached the first bonfire in the Burg. Thomas' little surprise for Oscar was on it's way.

Stopping about a 5th of the way down the bridge, Thomas casually folded his arms in front of his chest. Oscar stepped behind him. "We've stopped. What is it?" The Seer's only response was to grin. THUD. There was a sonorous boom that was more felt than it was heard. THUD. It was heavier than Thomas expected, but he dug into his position, putting minor effort into remaining, by all appearances, absolutely calm. Oscar, however, grew nervous from the noises. "Thomas..." Thomas allowed himself a small smile. "No worries, Oscar. We're completely safe." It was at this moment, almost as if to bite Thomas' words with irony, a loud roar filled the air. Oscar looked up, terrified. "Is that-" A large, red drake swooped down, and landed on the bridge. It's many barbed scales were the color of blood, it's black claws sharpened like scythes. White teeth glittered in the dim light of the sun as it's red eyes burned at the enemies below.

"Dragon!" Oscar's shout made Thomas turn around, and give him a lightly mocking look under his sorcerer's cap. "No, Oscar," he said, pointing at the Hellkite Drake behind him. "That's just a drake. Not even a candle on a real dragon. _He_ ," Thomas pointed his thumb at the drake behind him, which flapped it's wings and flew off the bridge. "He only comes to scare the shit out of the chosen undead. You didn't soil yourself, did you?" Oscar glared. "No. I did not." Chuckling, Thomas turned back to the main bridge. "Good. Come on. We've got Hollows to slay, and a Bonfire to light."

Charging forth, Thomas whipped out his catalyst, focusing a Soul Arrow on the archer. Whipping his staff around, he launched it, and the beam seemed to fly faster, nailing the Hollow in the forehead. Thomas dodged a Hollow's sword, and pulled out his hollow soldier's shield, using it to block two blades at once. The Hollows stiffened as Oscar swiped his blade at their unprotected legs, and Thomas moved his shield out of the way to slice at their chests. "HELL YEAH!" Thomas shouted, exhulting in the battle. A hollowed soldier stabbed at him with his spear, and Thomas spun to the side, batting the spear away with his blade as he lifted his leg, squaring a kick into the center of the shield. Once the shield was out of the way, he could counterattack as his opponent's block was broken. It's shield flew away, and Thomas tossed his blade into the air, catching it, and then stabbing behind him, stabbing the creature in the chest. Oscar, to his credit, was also taking care of more Hollows, swiping, parrying, stabbing, kicking. Thomas turned to the other spear hollow, and barely dodged away from the other one's lunge. Standing, Thomas panted. Stamina depleted, apparently. It would be a bit before he got it back. Thankfully, the spear hollows are not that aggressive, and Thomas could easily catch his breath before the hollowed warrior considered pressing an obvious advantage like a sorcerer. Thomas pulled out his catalyst, and started raining down Soul Arrows, shaking into the soldier's shield, which had great physical defense, but poor magic defense. His mind's eye could already see the tendrils of magic energy seeping through the shield, slowly whittling away his opponent's health. The hollow pulled back his spear, and lunged. Thomas stepped to the side, batting it away with his catalyst. "Fuck outta here," he stated simply, before kicking the shield back. One quick thrust, and the Hollow lay dead.

Oscar came to join the sorcerer, panting as he wiped his sword blade clean with a cloth, which he offered to Thomas. Nodding his thanks, Thomas cleaned his own short sword, and sheathed it. "Now, what?" Thomas smiled. "Now, we see a merchant, get some useful shit. Also, don't stare at Yulia." Thomas broke some barrels, revealing a staircase. "Who..." Oscar began, but Thomas cut him off. "His sword. Yulia's his sword."

Meeting the undead merchant was usually an uneventful experience, and it seemed this would be no different. "Well now," he began, glancing at Thomas. "You seem to still have your wits about you." Oscar arrived. "Ahhhh, TWO people. This day just gets better and better, I swear. Welcome customers, one and all. I trade for souls. Everything's for sale." He then gave a small laugh that Thomas found a bit unsettling. Oscar found himself reaching for his sword. Thomas simply extended his hands, holding small balls of collected souls, and crushed them. He felt a major rush of souls enter his Dark Sign, and repeated the process. "Well, now," the merchant cooed. "You certainly came prepared."

"What can I say, I've been expecting you two," Thomas replied nonchalantly. "So what do you-HURK!"

"PROPHET!"

The undead merchant had ripped his uchikatana free from under it's dirty rags, and stabbed it into Thomas' chest, sorcerer's robes doing about as much as expected to stop it. It hurt, sure, but Thomas decided that violence would not get him the items he needed. "Look," he said,clenching his teeth slightly. "You've made your point, so I'll make a bargain. You not strike me down, and I'll not strike you down." The merchant smiled. "And how do I know you won't take Yulia from me the moment I let my guard down?" Thomas managed a sigh. "You forgot about Oscar." The knight of Astora had grabbed one of the bows off the rack, as well as a few arrows, and now began firing. One arrow impaled the merchant's wrist, forcing him to let go of the katana, which remained in Thomas' chest, the other end sticking out the back. Another arrow lodged in the merchant's chest, just above his heart, and another impaled in his head. Briefly, Thomas marveled at the firing speed Ocar showed, as he fired three arrows in but a second. Shaking that out of his mind, he took his estus flask out.

"No," the merchant cried faintly. "My... little... Yulia..." Thomas swooped over. "Drink," he commanded, pressing his estus flask to the Merchant's mouth. The merchant rose, looking at Thomas with mild wonder. "why do this?" Thomas shrugged. "I need the shit you sell more than I would like to see you dead right now. Consider it mercy via necessity. I'd not be this kind otherwise." Standing, Thomas put his flask away, and gripped the uchikatana, and pulled it out of his chest, unintentionally groaning loudly from the pain. It was as suspected, the blade would do a second hit from leaving, and trigger his bleeding. Dropping the blade without ceremony or even any intention of grace, Thomas whipped his flask out, and drank, his blood ceasing flowing from the hole in his chest. "Now," he said, wiping his mouth. "As I said, I've come to bargain."

Bargains were hard, but Thomas came out rather the victor, when he was able to use his "mercy" as a negotiating chip. Basically, he got a fifty percent discount on all items. Thomas got a repairbox for emergencies, the Resident's Key, properly bought the bow Oscar used, as well as a mess of arrows, an orange guidance soapstone, and bought a rapier. The rest of his souls would go to himself. Oscar then made his own purchases, and purchased more arrows, as one could never have too many. Taking their leave, the duo made it to the Bonfire.

"You know how I said not to stare at Yulia?" Oscar nodded in response. "Well," Thomas chuckled, "I didn't know I shouldn't even mention Yulia around him. Ah well. You live and you learn. Sometimes you die and you learn."


	4. Strategic Maneuvering

Author's Note: Forgive the minor delay. Blame the holiday season coming up to bite me in the ass, among other IRL issues.

04 Strategic Manuevering

As Thomas and Oscar rested at the Bonfire, the Prophet thought it best to "illuminate the future" a little bit. "Okay," Thomas began. "We have the bonfire here." Tapping the ground with his catalyst, a small glyph of a flaming sword appeared. _Okay, unexpected._ He didn't know he could do that. Oh well. Appear wise, and strategize. He could ponder this little event later. "Just outside, we have the hollowed crossbowman, three hollowed warriors, and two hollowed Spartans." Oscar gave a puzzled look. "Spartans? I have not heard of such things before..." mentally slapping himself, Thomas corrected. "The spearwielders. Where I am from, the Spartans were fierce warriors who fought with shield and spear. Once, they repelled an invading force of Persian warriors numbering in the hundreds of thousands, while only having three hundred themselves." Oscar's eyes widened. "Three hundred companies?" Shaking his head, Thomas replied. "No. Three hundred men." Oscar, who had taken off his helmet to better watch the plans, let his mouth fall slack. "That's... that's impossible! How were they not overrun?" Thomas smirked. "Oh, simple. The Persian army had drafted anyone able to lift a sword, regardless of actual skill with it. Farmers, stable hands, some children even. The Spartans had trained for battle their entire lives, however, training to be incredibly deadly both solo and as a team. The Persians washed against them like water on stone. Swords, spears, arrows be damned. It helped that the Persians fought because their emperor commanded it, while the Persians had a home to defend, thus boosting reason to fight. And as the Persian body count grew higher, their own fear, and respect, of the Spartan forces grew. In fact, when the three hundred were eventually overrun -By trickery, I should mention- the Persian armies quaked when they faced whole armies of Spartans, remembering what only three hundred could do."

Oscar's mouth hung at Thomas' tale. "And I have never heard of such warriors because..." Thomas shifted uncomfortably. "Like I said. I come from a _very_ far off land. Hell, just getting home will be a trick..." Sitting in silence, Thomas ruminated on his home. Some time after silence, Oscar spoke up. "The plan?" Right. Inwardly cursing, Thomas pulled out his catalyst again. "Okay, so we have the Bonfire, the Hollows here. Across this bridge is a small building. In it are two more hollows with battle axes. Simple creatures, but they hit pretty hard. I'd avoid their attacks, if you can't block them." Making a note that he remembered that Hollow Shields don't have great stability, he unequipped it for better equipment load. "Only two Hollows?" Oscar asked. "Even with axes, we can take them individually, I'm certain." Thomas nodded. "In this, you're right, but they have an ace in the hole. Let me bring it to light." Making a quick square with his catalyst, he quickly put an X over part of it. "Right here is a door, and on the other side of it, is a Hollowed Soldier. Sword and Shield variant. Fierce warriors, them." Oscar's face darkened with worry. "Then, we're outnumbered. How will we push through?"

"We stick to our strengths. You're a solid warrior in solid armor. You'll take the Axe Hollow on the left, I'll take the one on the right. Play defensively when the Soldier Hollow gets in, as he'll likely go for you, as you'll be closer. Once I take down my Hollow, we team up and gank those fuckers." Oscar had no idea what Thomas meant from the words "gank" or "fuckers", as such words were not in Lordran's vocabulary, but from the context, he assumed it was somewhere along the lines of 'take them down'. He could work with that. "All right, anything else?" Thomas frowned, thinking. "Well, not really. OH! Right. There's a few hollows on the roof that will throw firebombs onto the bridge. We don't have a bow, so our only option is to just sprint across the bridge really fast and pray." Oscar chuckled. "Prophet, you forget." he then pulled out his bow. "We _do_ have a bow." Right. Thomas felt a little stupid for that, but he had a sword in his chest at the time. Cut him some slack. "All right. So the rest of the plan stays, but before that, we secure the area here, outside the Bonfire, and then you snipe some bitches. Good plan? Great plan." Thomas stood, and swiped his foot over the blue drawings in the stone, erasing them from existence. _What the Hell caused them, anyways?_

Before they left, Thomas decided to give Oscar the Winged Spear. "You'll appreciate the reach, I'm sure." Bursting out, Thomas fired two Soul Arrows, one into the Hollow on the stairs, another into the crossbow wielding hollow. The warrior was quickly felled by the magical dart, but the crossbowman still stood. Not for long though, as Oscar's spear was able to reach it, the tip puncturing the unprotected belly of the Hollow. Thomas turned to the stairs, and fired two more arrows into the Hollow charging up at him, taking it down even as it's broken sword swung wildly at him. Not that it reached him. Thomas smirked, turning to the soldier. "look," he pointed. "There's the firebombers. We're out of reach here. Take 'em out. I'll defend your rear." Oscar nodded, stringing his bow while Thomas turned to the stairs once more. The other hollow charged forward, but dodged to the side as he fired another Soul Arrow... stupidly, it jumped off the stairs, and fell off the side into the bottomless pit. "Idiot," the sorcerer muttered, watching as a Hollowed Spearman slowly approached. Thomas' eyes stayed on the soldier, his ears hearing the twang of Oscar's bowstring, His Dark Sign occasionally feeling the occasional flux of souls as another Hollow died. When the Spear Hollow got close enough, Thomas watched. It didn't attack yet. These Hollows were almost cowardly with their shields. Had to make his own openings. Kicking, Thomas knocked aside it's shield, and casually swiped at it's neck and belly with his blade, felling the creature. "It is done," Oscar said, the souls confirming. "Right," Thomas said, turning to the bridge. "Now for the building. You want the spear now." Oscar nodded, putting his helmet back on, and then pulling the winged spear out. "Right. For Astora!" Thomas charged across the bridge. "For Asgard!"

As it turned out, the axe hollows were a little bit faster than Thomas gave them credit for, and had to focus almost entirely on dodging. Oscar was hard pressed, taking what jabs he could, but largely falling back. Eventually, Thomas managed to find time to fire a Soul Arrow, and shot it at the Hollow Soldier's unprotected back. Good news: It hit, stumbling the soldier. Bad news, the soldier now looked at Thomas, hate in it's insane eyes. "Shit." Rolling backward to avoid an axe swing, Thomas swung his catalyst like a sword, firing a Soul Arrow at the axe hollow in front of him, killing it. Then he dodged to the side as the Hollowed Soldier stabbed the air he just occupied. "FUS!" Thomas shouted. Nothing happened, of course, as he wasn't the dragonborn (At least, if he was, he was in the wrong game for that.). It DID have an effect he was hoping for. The Hollow jumped, not expecting the word so loudly spoken, and Thomas kicked, knocking it's shield away as he spun, slicing it's throat. Oscar then finished it with a thrust to the skull. Nice. Oscar's shield deflected an axe, but his shield was knocked aside, leaving him open to counter attack. "No!" Thomas rushed forward, and stabbed, his sword gutting the Hollow. As abruptly as the battle started, it ended, and Thomas drew his sword from the Hollow, letting it clatter to the ground as he wiped the blood off his blade. "All right. That went better than expected. Now, for the next part." Thomas began drawing on the ground again, making the building, and the bridge they crossed on. "We are here." He drew a pathway. "Down here, there's a door on the right. Inside that door is a building with a hollow guarding another doorway leading to a decent sized room that has a chest with black firebombs. We're gonna nab those. There's also another Hollow in the building here," Thomas indicated the location. "we can handle him easily. Now, exiting the building, there will be three hollows. One can throw firebombs, and we can't shoot him from outside his range this time. We'll have to be careful." Oscar nodded. "I'll take on the bomber with my soul arrows, you distract the two hollows, and then we each take a hollow. Over here," Thomas drew a circle. "Is a tower. In it is a crossbow wielding hollow. He can't reach us while fighting these hollows here, but when we go here," Thomas drew up a walkway leading to an open area. "There are three hollows, two soldiers and a Spartan. They're trouble enough, but with the crossbowman shooting at our backs, things will get ugly quick. So, I'll take him out, then rain magic from afar. At that height, I'll be able to reach over their shields. After this, we'll backtrack over here. This room has gold pine resin."

Oscar's eyes raised. "That stuff is exceedingly rare. It will be an invaluable asset." Thomas nodded. "We're going to save it. There will be a time when it will be most useful. But not yet." Oscar nodded. "Got it. Anything else?" Thomas stood, swiping his foot over the plan, banishing it. "Yeah. Don't die."

They executed the plan almost flawlessly, dispatching the lesser troops with ease. As Thomas fired magic from afar, however, Thomas noticed a small... problem. Oscar had nearly dealt with the last of the Hollows, engaged in a vicious sword match, but a certain enemy decided to investigate the noise just outside. As Thomas watched in Horror, the Black Knight of Gwyn strode out from it's hiding spot, stalking towards Oscar. "Shit. OSCAR! YOUR REAR!" Oscar spared a glance behind him, and paled underneath his helmet. Thomas, meanwhile, bolted down the stairs, and burst into the Residence building, grabbbing the gold pine resin. _What made him come out?! Why now? I wanted us to be able to take him on tactically!_ But the time for tactics had gone. Oscar had gone on the defensive, avoiding and blocking whatever hits he could. Thomas gauged the distance, and chucked a firebomb. It sailed into the air, and fell on the Hollow Oscar was tangled with. _Sorry about that Oscar,_ Thomas thought as both were engulfed in flames. Oscar would survive, though. Thomas applied the Gold Pine Resin to his shortsword, and jumped down, slicing at the knight's achilles tendon. His sword managed to cut through the armor, somehow, and ash bled from the wound. Electrical energy arced along the armored form, but it seemed to faze the knight none. It turned swinging it's shield at Thomas, and knocked him across the room. "HUOF!" Thomas grunted as the wind was knocked out of him. The knight stalked towards him, and Thomas raised his catalyst, firing Soul Arrows to slow it's approach as he tried to recover his breath. But the shield of the Black Knights are incredibly stable, and his bolts had little effect, save to slow it down. Thankfully, that was all Thomas counted on, so he wasn't surprised by this. He prayed that the thing kept it's shield up, because if it decided to poise through his attacks, he'd be a goner. The knight stalked forward, and raised his sword, about to strike, when it stopped, a sword sprouting from it's chest. Oscar! He'd managed to stab it in the back! Thomas rose, and stabbed it in the face. The electrical energy was what finished it, and the knight dropped it's sword as it cried out in pain, dissolving into souls.

Thomas was breathing heavily after that. He'd recovered enough to stand, but hadn't fully caught his breath. Oscar, however, was frustrated, lifting his face plate to drink an estus to heal from Thomas' firebomb. "You set me on fire, Prophet." Thomas shrugged apologetically at that, picking up the Black Knight Sword. "Sorry. Splash damage. I needed to take care of the Hollow so we could join forces against the knight." Oscar looked unimpressed. "And you didn't mention him earlier because..." Wincing, Thomas spoke up. "Because I didn't expect him to develop such a high aggro range, I guess. Come on, we have a ring to pick up. Blue tearstone. Increases defense at low health." Looting it went without event, and Thomas pointed to the tower. "Strategy time, because THAT is a bossfight." He made a hologram of a bridge with a tower on either end. "Now, here's where we pop in from. On the tower behind us are a couple archers. You're going to climb up and deal with them. They're cake. I, meanwhile, will draw out the Taurus Demon, who's waiting here." He indicated the other tower. "Once he's out, I'm going to turn tail and run like the Gravelord himself is after me to climb the tower. Once the Demon, who will be chasing me, gets in range, you take the plunge, and stab him in his stupid little head. Once you're out of the way, I'll do the same. Then we can finish him from the ground, as he'll not be able to withstand our combined force of R1 Spamming." Oscar cleared his throat. "And R1 Spamming is..." Thomas chuckled. "Swinging our weapons with absolute wild abandon. No focus on defense. Pure, barbaric offense. Feel free to two hand your weapon at that point. You want to do as much damage as possible." Oscar nodded. "Sword or spear?" Thomas shrugged. "Whatever you're comfortable with. Actually, idea. As it charges towards you, take shots with arrows before plunging into its head. Now let's go."

Thomas watched as Oscar climbed the ladder, hoping the Taurus Demon didn't aggro early like the Black Knight did. As the knight signaled to him that the path was clear, Thomas allowed himself a dark grin. This would be a quick fight. Practically a speedbump. Walking forward, Thomas pulled out a black firebomb, tossing it and catching it in his hand like it was nothing more than a baseball. A shadow flew over him, and the demon jumped down, roaring in challenge. Thomas first threw the firebomb, then turned heel, fleeing. He kept his head down, watching arrows fly over him as he felt the ground shake from the charging demon. Reaching the ladder, Thomas immediately began his ascension as the demon pulled it's arms back, ready to swing. The sorcerer ignored that, focusing on the climb, when he heard a yowl of pain. He spared a glance. Oscar had stabbed his spear in the Taurus Demon's skull. Finishing his climb, Thomas pulled out his shortsword, and another firebomb. Waiting till Oscar had jumped off, he threw the bomb, and then jumped after it. He timed the throw well, as the flames from the bomb faded even as he was landing. He stabbed it's skull with his sword, and jabbed it in the eye with his catalyst, willing a Soul Arrow to fire from the end. Screeching in pain, The demon threw it's head back, attempting to throw Thomas off the bridge. Thomas anticipated that trick this time, and rolled backwards, tumbling down. It wasn't the smoothest drop, but he landed on his feet. That was the important thing. Swords out, Thomas and Oscar chopped away. "R1! R1! R1! R1! R1!" Thomas shouted, each cry of "R1!" timed with the impact of his blade. The Demon stood no chance, and quickly died.

As they felt the souls of the defeated enemy fill them, Thomas allowed himself an exhilatory shout. "Yeah!" He swung the blood off his sword, and twirled it in a small flourish before sheathing it. That felt good. Oscar nodded appreciatively. "All right, what's the next step?" Thomas smiled, knowing what came next. "Now, we meet the embodiment of incandescence most glorious."


	5. Sunlight and Magic and Fire (Oh, crap)

Kinzarks wrote: "The only thing I didn't get was the blue drawings and holograms while Thomas was explaining the meta... I mean the strategy to follow. Were they caused by the Soul Magic as he used his catalyst or what?"

Theseus12: Well, the basic image I was going for was the catalyst serving as a marker, and the Soul Magic to serve as the ink. So picture Thomas drawing with a giant marker that leaves glowing blue marks, and you essentially have what was going on. I should also probably clarify that all images and drawings made this way are two dimensional, not three. I do have further plans with this ability, but I'm going to wait until Thomas meets with Logan for that

5

Sunlight and Magic and Fire (Oh crap)

Thomas was absolutely giddy about what came ahead, and Oscar didn't understand a bit of it. As they crossed the length of the bridge, Thomas constantly was checking over his robes, making sure that most of the grime was wiped off of them. "First impressions, Oscar," Thomas would repeat constantly. "First impressions are important." Making sure his sword was cleaned, Thomas resheathed it, and kept walking. They entered the tower, and Oscar glanced around. "Anything worthwhile here, Thomas?" Thomas shook his head. "Well, yes, but no. Nothing of value. The real worthwhile thing is just outside. And it's more a person, not a thing. And I intend to recruit him." Oscar gave an "mmhmm" to that. "And just who is this person, and what makes him so special that he should join us?" _Oh, no he didn't,_ thought the sorcerer. He stopped, and turned to Oscar. "All right. Listen here, motherfucker. This man we meet is a Warrior of Sunlight, and a true, most honorable warrior. He has helped many warriors, in many _worlds,_ and I will not hear you doubt the character of Knight Solaire of Astora." Oscar spluttered. "Solaire? You mean..." They rounded the bend, and standing at the end of the great platform, a solitary man in armor stood, gazing at the sun. Turning his head, the knight acknowledged their presence.

"Ah, hello there, you two. You don't look Hollow. Far from it, in fact!" He then seemed to notice Oscar, and turned towards him. "Ah, I recognize that armor of Astoran make. I too, am from Astora." Oscar rushed forward. "Solaire you bastard! How have you been?" Solaire seemed to recognize him as well, and they immediately clashed, wrestling each other to the ground. Meanwhile, Thomas stood there, mildly confused as to what was going on. "Okay Oscar. My Sight goes only so far, so if you could explain what is going on here, I would appreciate it." The two knights stopped their roughhousing, and stood, Solaire the first to speak. "I trust that my brother hasn't caused you too much trouble, has he Sorcerer?" Thomas mentally reeled. Oscar and Solaire were both of Astora, he knew that much, but _brothers?_ This was a new development that he was sure nobody saw coming. He certainly didn't. There was nothing to suggest that Solaire had any family left. _To be fair, the only in-game mention of his past was from his armor, which was that it was hand crafted armor, and nothing really remarkable, and that which he himself said._ He remembered the dialogue well, suggesting that Solaire took on the undead curse willingly, to come to the land of the Lords to seek his own sun.

"Solaire," Oscar began, "This is Thomas. More than just an ordinary sorcerer from Vinheim. He hails from a land called Earth realm, and has had visions of the future. We used his sight to great advantage in our recent battles." Solaire tilted his helmet at the sorcerer as Oscar spoke. "Ahh, a prophet are you?" Thomas gave a non-commital shrug. "I have seen the destinations of many paths which lie in front of many people in this place, good or ill. More than that, I cannot say." Solaire seemed to seize on that. "Then tell me. Do I succeed? Do I find my Sun? Or is my searching in vain?" Thomas thought for a moment. "There are many paths intersecting with yours. Many threads woven into the tapestry that is your life. Sometimes the future is difficult to discern, and nothing is set in stone." Thomas sounded fancy with his words, but his mind was on overdrive. Even while he was spewing his mindless drivel, he was thinking on his answer. And he thought of it. But he needed time to phrase it. "But, before I can answer you that question, there is a task we must do." "And that is?" asked the Astoran brothers. Thomas pointed down the bridge. "At the other end of that bridge lies the Altar of Sunlight. Comes with everything you could need. A covenant with badass offensive Miracles. a tail weapon one handed sword, and best of all, a warpable bonfire. We wants it, precious. We wants it indeed." The Astora Brothers didn't know what "Warpable" was at the time, though Thomas would explain that after the Lordvessel was obtained. "All right, then," Oscar said, starting forward. "Let's gp. Those Hollows are no match for us." Thomas gave a chuckle. "Sure. It's not the Hollows I'm worried about, though. It's the Hellkite Drake that will breathe fire down the bridge."

At this, Thomas blinked his User Interface into existence, and started unequipping all the things. "Thomas, what are you doing?" Thomas exited his user interface, and shivered slightly. This loincloth covered all his giblets, but was too small, and too breezy, for his liking. "The drake is fast, and nobody here has either high enough health pools or good enough armor to survive it's flames. So, I have no choice but to strip down and streak across the bridge. The Hollows will be burned. In the middle of the bridge is a small room that leads to the Bonfire we were just at." Solaire looked at Oscar, then to Thomas. "And... How will we know if you make it there alive?" Thomas shrugged. "There's a ladder I'll be kicking down. Consider that your signal. In the meantime... Oscar, kill that hollow with your bow." Oscar gave a quizzical look, but complied. "Good," Thomas said. "Once you guys get back to the Bonfire, rest up. I'll know when you're there, because he'll respawn." The brothers seemed unconvinced, but decided not to argue with it. "Just a question, friend," Solaire asked. "How will we know if you fail?" Thomas laughed. "I pop up at the Bonfire. Now go. I'm sure you and your brother have some catching up to do." Thomas sat, not taking no for an answer, and waited. As he sat, he pondered his answer to the sorry question Solaire asked.

 _Do I see where his path leads? Does he find his Sun?_

He didn't want Solaire to die, and Thomas was quite sure that there wasn't a Souls player in the world who would wish otherwise. He had to keep him from Lost Izalith. At least, not until he could deal with the Red Eyed Chaos Bug which would drive the Warrior of Sunlight mad. That was a future that Thomas refused. Now... Thomas bent low, and controlled his breathing. The Hollow had resurrected. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. On the third exhale, Thomas pushed off, running at almost full speed, saving stamina for the final push. He ran past the hollows, narrowly avoiding spears as they jabbed at him. Fwoom... Fwoom... The Drake was flying over. Resisting the urge to look behind him, Thomas poured on the speed, jumping for the stairs, and tumbling down, flames licking inches away from his exposed back. Breathing heavily, Thomas lay curled in a ball, letting himself get over the scenario he narrowly avoided. "That. That would have sucked." After taking a moment to regain his bearings, Thomas stood, and re-equipped his gear before heading to the downstairs Bonfire. Kicking the ladder down, Thomas then slid down to the knights below. "I take it," Solaire asked, "That you have given the drake the slip?" Thomas nodded. "We're not out of the woods yet, though. I have a plan."

Pulling out his catalyst, Thomas made drawings of two seperate bridges. One bridge was more or less a large rectangle, while the other rectangle had multiple squares. At the end of both bridges, he placed a large circle. "All right. So this is the top half of the bridge. You have hollows here, here, and here, with a couple archers here and here, and a spearman here. They're practically fodder, but the drake is still there." At the circle, representing the tower at the end of the bridge, Thomas put a large skull. "Thankfully, there's an alternate way to get past him, but it would involve sacrificing the bonfire. IF we were alone. But we can do both." At the knights inquisitive glances, Thomas continued. "Now, this bridge," he began, indicating the rectangle with the squares in them, "This is underneath the main area. There's a swordsman here, another here, and a spearman here." Oscar quietly motioned to the squares. "And what are these supposed to be?" "The pillars to the bridge." Oscar gave a quiet "oh," and settled into his seat. "Now," Thomas continued, "Here at this point of the tower are three rats, placed here, here, and here. Watch out for this one on the right. He tries to flank you if you charge in after the other two rats. Best to let them come to you, and skewer them with a spear."

"I take it that this path is mine, then?" Oscar asked grimly. "Don't worry," Thomas said. "You've honestly got the safer bit."

"And what do we have?" Solaire asked, cheery as usual. Thomas desperately hoped this attitude wouldn't shift with his next statement; "You and I are charging a drake."

Solaire, to his credit, was a lot more enthusiastic about his part than Thomas himself would have been. _Trusting a total madman as I must appear? The jolly old fellow must be mad, himself!_ "Okay, I'mma run across to the other side. When Oscar shoots it down, we both run on either side,grab some of the loot behind him, and reach for the Bonfire." Solaire nodded, and Thomas dashed for the side. The Drake immediately belched flame, and Thomas was thankful he hadn't tried to press his luck. Sheathing his weapons, Thomas bent low into a crouch, prepared to sprint. Solaire cosidered the plan, and followed his lead. He listened, and heard a small twang. There was a loud, deafening roar as the drake lifted itself into the air, and the pair moved.

That's when shit started going south.

Thomas had predicated his entire strategy under the hitherto unfounded assumption that the Drake would simply follow game AI. Instead, it vaulted off the bridge, and hovered over the side of it, looking with spite for it's offender that dared fire at it. It was looking down the lower half of the bridge, searching for Oscar. "Shit! Solaire, lightning!" Thomas grabbed the claymore off the ground, and hefted it. Thank the gods. He could use it. Hefting the weapon on his shoulder, he concentrated, and fired a soul bolt. The drake stopped breathing fire as the two magical bolts pierced it, and it prepped another one. But Thomas sensed a change. A spell was ready. He didn't know what it was, but his body did, even if he didn't. "Duck and cover!" He turned away from the drake, and jumped off the bridge. _I_ _ **am**_ _a madman!_

His catalyst hand whipped about, and a thread of magical energy snaked out, and attached itself to the edge of the bridge. If it wasn't for the sorcerer's deathgrip, he likely still would have ended up falling to his death. As it was, he ended up rolling on the ground of the level underneath the bridge. And it was not that graceful a landing. "Ow." Oscar quickly moved over, and picked him up, thankful that sorcerer was both lightly armored and not too heavy in his own right. "What in the hell was that?!"

"Good question," Thomas admitted, getting to cover from the Drake's breath. "I'll answer that AFTER we kill this fucker." The fucker in question then shrieked as another lightning bolt charged into it's skull. Solaire was still keeping up the good fight, it seemed. Thomas tested experimentally, and the blue cord of magical energy extended a bit.

"Prophet," Oscar asked, worried, "What are you doing?"

"I," Thomas answered, keeping the worry out of his voice, "Am being an idiot." He strode forward. "Time to get my Indiana Jones on!" The theme for said movie running through his head, Thomas swiped the soul whip forth, and managed to snag it on the end of the Drake's tail. "Ho-ho-holy!" Thomas began triumphantly as the Drake wailed in pain. Then the Drake rose into the sky, pulling the unfortunate sorcerer with it, who was, in his own way, also wailing. "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT"

The drake landed on the bridge, and Thomas thumped on the bridge with it, the magical whip dissipating. So it was a brief, temporary thing, but apparently had a nigh in exorable grip, both the whip on the target and the catalyst on the user, creating an unbreakable, though temporary, link between the two. He could think of uses for this. Unfortunately, the drake was wheeling about, turning to look at him with hatred in it's black eyes. The whip did nearly no damage, but the thought of carrying around a human like baggage was likely insulting to the proud creature. "I'll see you at the bonfire, guys,"

"PRAAAIIIIISE"

The bellowing warcry came from behind the drake, a jolly glee within the warrior's voice.

"THE SUUUN!"

Charging forward, Solaire first applied Sunlight Blade, while moving, mind you, on his sword, and then immediately threw a Great Lightning Spear. The Drake ducked it's head to avoid the spear, but only moved to bring it within reach of Solaire's blade, which gave two quick, precise slices along the beast's chin. Thomas, not taking time to wonder about the Deus Ex Machina, quickly drank some Estus, topping off his health, and drew his claymore. Slipping some Lightning Pine Resin on the blade, he quickly joined the fray. Avoiding the teeth and claws, Thomas moved behind the beast, aimed his blade, and gave a good, hard slice, severing the tail. The beast reared, and Thomas saw an opportunity. Using his whip again, Thomas used a combination of momentum and the beast's pulling to climb him up the great beast's back. He threw himself forward, claymore aimed for a swing at the beast's head, a warcry filling his throat. "ZU'U QAHNAARIN!"

Shame he missed.

Crashing into the ground, Thomas turned to look at the Drake as the creature looked at him contemptuously. "So, this is where I die." It wouldn't be the first time Thomas had died to the Hellkite Drake, but the first time he would get to _really_ experience it. "BROTHER!" Oscar fired an arrow into the exposed flesh of the drake's tail, and Solaire siezed on the moment, firing a bolt of lightning directly into the beast's mouth. Maybe this was the straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe Hellkite Drakes were even more vulnerable to magic when they practically ate the bolt. Regardless, the bolt was sufficient, and the Drake fell, dying.

Standing, the party recollected themselves, and moved onward, towards the bonfire. "Thomas, that was a damned fool thing you did," Oscar admonished. Solaire indicated agreement.

Thomas himself, wasn't feeling that smart either. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. The Drake shifting positions like it did. It was more than just unexpected. It was... wrong." When asked for details, he waved them off. "In the meantime..." He blinked open his UI, wanting to look at the new spell he learned. "I'm wanting to take a look at my shiny new Hookshot."

 _Soul Whip_

 _Sorcery developed by a wandering mage from a far off land and time. Creates a short term whip of spectral energy that can be used for either traversal or, to a lesser degree, combat. The tether created is nigh unbreakable, but quickly fades depending on the strain experienced. The sorcerer who created this spell would refer to it as his own hookshot._

AN:

If you liked it, rate and review. If not, well, at least tell me what I did that you didn't like, and I'll CONSIDER editing my content to better accomodate (No promises, it's based entirely, ENTIRELY on a case by case basis, and how constructive the criticism is. Threats against my parakeet will be ignored.

...

I need a parakeet.

Also, what did you think of the new spell? If you want to see more custom spells, pyromancies, and miracles, feel free to leave suggestions in the Reviews.

What I look for in a spell suggestion

Name

Type (Sorcery, Pyromancy, Miracle)

Description for the spell.

What the spell actually does.

(Optional) places where the spell can be placed for finding in the world, up to and including the appropriate vendors that sell that kind of thing (Rhea/Petrus for Miracles, Logan/Rickert for Sorceries, Laurentius/Queelan/Fair Lady/Eyinge for Pyromancies)


	6. A Legendary Invasion

Mad Wolf 3: Thanks. If you have any spell suggestions, just leave comment them. The Drake dissolved into souls, to answer that question. As for the tail, if you'll go back and read, I'm pretty sure I was clear that the tail was cut off. It was more a footnote in the entire thing, as Thomas wasn't so focused on the tail so much as he was actually killing the drake, but it was done.

LDTA: Thanks. I spent like, several minutes trying to think of a dynamic for Oscar and Solaire that could work on them being friendly rivals and/or frenemies, and that was the best one I could think of. Nothing works better than sibling rivalry for that.

kewlleuk: Good eye on noticing that! Yes, when I was initially starting out, I deliberately chose that to be Thomas' starting gift because, from the beginning, I intended to do something quite different in that spot. Spoilers: It involves Thomas being either really bold, or really stupid. (Considering how much his actions veer between the two, I get I'm not saying much, but it's not like the magician reveals his secrets, does he?)

06

A Legendary Invasion

Gathered around the Bonfire next to the Sunlight Altar, Thomas, Solaire and Oscar, whom he was considering calling the Super Astora Brothers (not that they would get the reference) began to strategize their next move. Thomas, to his credit, was holding up pretty well, considering that the fight with the Hellkite Drake, while technically successful in that they killed it, had gone wrong twelve ways to Sundas. "Hah," Thomas muttered to himself. "Elder Scrolls jokes."

Solaire looked up. "You say something, Prophet?" He shook his head in response.

"It's nothing. I'm just... reassessing, I suppose."

"What's there to reassess," Oscar asked. "Your predictions, while correct on enemy placements, were horrificly wrong in terms of movement."

"I KNOW!" Thomas snapped, causing the Astoran brothers to flinch. The sorcerer rubbed his temples with his fingers, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he let out. "I... I never, in any of my visions, saw that coming. I won't lie. That... That was unexpected. The game has changed. They've gotten more organic, I suppose."

Solaire surprised him, taking off his helmet. Short, golden hair and piercing grey eyes greeted him, along with a trimmed beard framing his mouth. "All right then. Are your visions on their locations still accurate?" Thomas nodded. "All right. Lay it out, and we can strategize, together. We can no longer rely entirely on the visions, but we can still make use of them."

Thomas got a lump in his throat. Part of him wanted to take charge. He was the Chosen Undead, after all. But Solaire was the one with the most combat experience. "All right," he deferred, "here's the locations of various Hollows. Also, there's an armored boar here. We want to be really careful here, as there's another one of Gwyn's knights, wielding an Ultra-Greatsword. The warriors paled. Oscar tried to be chipper.

"But we faced one before, did we not? And we took it down."

Thomas nodded. "Observant, yes. However, we must still be careful." He pulled the Black Knight Sword out of his inventory. "See this? This is a regular sword to them. Go ahead. Feel it's weight. The raw power it commands." They passed the blade amongst themselves, not much enjoying the concept of the blade being used against them. Oscar, in particular, was appreciative the Black Knight was focused on the prophet, allowing him to stab it in the back. Taking the blade back, Thomas smiled grimly. "What if I told you that this sword here looked like a toothpick compared to the one our next foe bears?" There was a collective gasp. "Good. Now that I got the shock of the size of the weapon out of the way, we can strategize how to deal with him."

Solaire picked up the pace from there. "Well, there's only one of him, yes? We could draw him out to the courtyard, and flank him. _After_ we take care of the boar and hollows there." Thomas nodded. Solid plan, and assuming the Black Knight didn't hyper aggro like the last one did, they'd have no issues. "Prophet, speaking of the boar, anything you want to share?"

Right. "The armor is nigh impenetrable," Thomas began, laying out a diagram of the boar. Gods, he was loving the glyph drawing feature of his catalyst. "But it has two weaknesses. Miss Piggy's belly and asshole are both completely without plating. But, unless you have a giant ass spatula to flip her over, the belly is unavailable."

"Leaving us with just her rear," Oscar muttered. "Well, I have a very pointy spear. What do you say I stick the pig?"

Thomas smiled at his initiative. "All right," he said, handing Oscar the last of the golden pine resin. "You use this on it. If Solaire agrees, he and I will focus on drawing the boar's attention, as well as defense in general, until the boar is dead." Solaire nodded agreement. "All right, let's do this. Three, two, one, BREAK!" The Super Astora Bros just looked at Thomas like he was immensely stupid, and he was left to remind himself that they had no idea what he was referencing. "Right. Let's just move on."

Solaire and Thomas had their shields ready. At Thomas' suggestion, Solaire had also removed his iron bracers and his helmet, allowing him to get just under the 25% weight thresh hold so that he could roll even more effectively. After giving a couple practice rolls, the Warrior of Sunlight seemed exuberant. "I feel so light!" he exclaimed. "It's like I could reach out and touch the sun myself!" His cheer bled over to the others, lifting their spirits, and they ventured forth.

As they entered the parish courtyard, Thomas took the right side, Solaire the center, and Oscar was on the left. As the hollow warrior charged them, Thomas veered to the side to deal with the pike-wielding Hollow, kicking it's shield aside as he cleaved it in twain. Solaire parried the warrior, and ran him through. The boar then lowered it's plated helm, pawing the ground. Thomas rushed over, his Hollow Soldier's shield in both hands. "Ready?" Solaire nodded, sheathing his own blade and following Thomas' lead. He'd need both hands for this. Oscar got into position; behind the pair, but to the side so that, if they were launched, he would be clear. Pulling out the pine resin, he prepared to apply it to the spear.

Squealing in rage, the boar bore down on the warriors, dirt and stone flying from it's hooves as it charged, hatred and malice burning in it's beady red eyes. "NOW!" Thomas and Solaire pressed their shields together, and bore the brunt of it's strike headon. The pair were launched backward bodily, and ended up rolling backwards, coming up kneeling. Their shields, at least, had remained upward. Thomas' arm shook from the blow, and he knew that if they kept their shields up, they wouldn't be able to block another direct strike like that. The boar looked at them, as though furious that they defied his blow, when it stopped, quivering as electrical energy surged into it's body. "Solaire! Now's our chance to get the archers!" The pair ran on either side, Thomas giving encouragement to Oscar. "Keep it busy for just a couple seconds. We-" he darted ahead of Oscar, using his shield to block the bolts that would have hit his back. "Have got your back!"

Oscar grunted, pushing the pig off the spear, and switched to his sword and shield as it got back up, and stared him down. "Please hurry," he whispered, voice small.

The pair charged forward, Thomas whiping out his catalyst. "Spells!" he shouted to Solaire. He nodded in understanding, and traded his sword for his talisman. Thomas prepared a Soul Arrow, and took aim at the left Hollow as it reloaded. "PRAISE!" he cried loudly.

"THE" Solaire continued, a javelin of electrical energy forming in his hands as he stared down the right hollow. Then, the pair shouted together, firing their magicks as one.

"SUN!"

Their spells flew true, and the hollows fell. A third hollow underneath the bridge charged forward, but they had already moved to the side. Thomas whirled, his shield slamming into the Hollow's, and knocked it aside. Solaire kicked the undead squarely in the chest, and knocked it down as they drew swords, slicing at it's body. "Right," Thomas panted, gripping Solaire's shoulder. "Oscar." Speaking of, he crashed next to was largely alive, but he was, indeed, wounded. "Solaire, tend to him," Thomas said. "I've got distraction duty." He readied his shield, and looked to the boar to see shit was, once again, really south. For standing next to the boar was the Black Knight, his ultra-greatsword in hand. "By the way, if you could hurry up about that," Thomas said, "yeah, that'd be great." Standing in front of the Astoran Knights, Thomas stood alone against an impromptu Ornstein and Smough.

 _All right, Thomas,_ he thought. _Time for those expert video game skills to come in handy._ Knight and boar charged, and Thomas ran forward, aiming to the side of the boar. As the boar dipped it's head swiped upward, aiming to rend Thomas with it's tusks. He slid like a baseball player, narrowly avoiding it's blows, before pushing up off the ground in front of the Black Knight, it's blade already swinging. Thomas parried, catching the blade in his shield and turning it aside, and ran the knight through with his claymore. _No time for flourishes,_ he thought, drawing his blade from the body. _Pig. PIG!_ The boar ignored him, and bore down on Solaire, who was still tending Oscar. "SOLAIRE!" The knight looked up just in time, and managed to cover them both with his shield. The pig stopped it's charge, and started slamming it's tusks down on them. Thomas turned his back on the knight, charging the pig as he two handed the claymore, stabbing it in the boar's rear. This was what finished the pig, and Solaire threw a bolt into the knight's face, destroying it.

Panting, the party began to regroup, healing up when an orange soapstone message popped up at Thomas' feet. "What the...?" Thomas knelt down, touching the writing, which then became clear.

"Invaded by xXsCrUbSlAy3rXx"

Shit.

"Guys," Thomas said, standing up, "We have company." The sorcerer then spotted the enemy, standing in the doorway of the Parish.

"Prophet," Solaire asked, his voice tinged with worry. "What in the name of the Lords... is that?"

It's heavy brass armor, tinted red by the Darkwraith's aura, glinted in the light of the sun. It's blue cape fluttered in the wind. It wasn't a full set, consisting only of gauntlets, boots, and cuirass, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was the shield on the Darkwraith's back, granting him increased stamina regeneration. The problem was the zweihander in his hand, chaos flame wreathing the blade. The problem was the Mask of the Father looking at him with empty eyes. The problem was his arms, outstretched to the party, as though in a mocking welcome. The problem was that Thomas knew exactly what this build was. What it was designed for. The problem was he now faced The Legend.

And The Legend Never Dies.


	7. Peril in the Parish

guisniperman: No. No they can't reach the Onion Bro. When you are invaded in this particular area, the walkway to the bonfire/Andre gets blocked off by the white light. Even if Thomas was to use his new whip spell to vault over the wall, he'd have to figure out a way to get Sir Onion over the wall, and who's to say our favorite Astoran knights would still be alive by the time they get back? No. They're going to have to deal with this head on. Prepare your anus. The Legend is going in Hollow.

Power up the mood music: watch?v=-etFHSySu4g

Fire

07

Peril in the Parish

Terror unfathomable gripped Thomas as The Legend, the Father of Giants looked upon them, gazing at each of them through the empty eyes of Pinwheel's Mask. The very earth trembled as a voice rumbled out, the Darkwraith pointing to each of them in turn.

"MAGE-FAG", the voice rumbled, looking at Thomas, causing him to grip the catalyst tighter.

"DEX-FAG", it pointed at Oscar, who still had the spear handy.

"YOU. SUNBRO-FAG". Thomas couldn't fully gauge Solaire's reaction through his helm, but he could see part of his eyes through the visor. Solaire looked nervous. They didn't know. They _couldn't_ know the terrible danger that GiantDad posed. But before he could think of a plan, the Darkwraith moved.

"CHAOS-HANDER GIANT DAD!" Thomas cried out, the behemoth suddenly charging them. "SCATTER!" They dove to the side as the burning weapon slammed into the ground, a small shockwave of flame burning the stone around the weapon. _Fuck! Too close!_ Thomas got up, and fired a soul arrow at the GiantDad. The bolt impacted, but had minimal observed effect. Shit. A bolt of lightning struck it, but seemed to have even less effect. _Of course it did,_ Thomas thought. "Solaire! Don't bother! His armor's resistant to electricity!" Simply nodding in acknowledgement, Solaire put his talisman away and drew his sword. Oscar managed to get lucky, and got behind the Darkwraith, stabbing his spear into it's back. The Legend roared with pain, and Oscar kicked him off as it landed face first into the dirt. Thomas gave a little fist bump, but he saw the Legend wasn't done yet.

The brass armored warrior got up, turning to Oscar with hate. "YOU FUCKING FAGGOT", the voice boomed, and the zweihander went up in an arc, a two handed heavy attack bearing down on the Astoran Knight, foolishly using his shield to try and block the attack. Thinking fast, Thomas cast Soul Whip, and whipped it towards the warrior's weapon. The tendril of blue energy wrapped around the end of the zweihander, and Thomas pulled with all the might in both hands, managing to stop the weapon in it's tracks. Time halted. The Legend turned to Thomas, stunned. Of course it was. No such sorcery existed in the game he was from. What Thomas had done, using magic to immobilize it's weapon, was seemingly impossible. And in addition, this puny mage had the strength to stop it, mid swing. Thomas was suddenly grateful he preferred Strength to Dexterity. Because Oscar would be dead otherwise. Speaking of that Astoran warrior... "Oscar!" Thomas cried out. "The mask is a weak point!"

He understood immediately, and started charging with the spear held in both hands as Thomas held the blade. The spell wouldn't last much longer. But it lasted long enough.

One problem with the Mask of the Father, and all of the Pinwheel masks, was they were unable to reinforced in any way. Not with Twinkling Titanite, Demon Titanite, or regular Titanite. You could reinforce the rest of your armor all day, but the masks would remain just as weak as the day it was picked up off of the ground. So when Oscar thrust his spear, it was of no surprise to Thomas that the weapon pierced the mask, and punctured the head easily. The Soul Whip faded, and the Legend fell to the ground, not quite dead.

"THE LEGEND..." It coughed, blood splattering it's chest. "NEVER DIES." Thomas kicked the Zweihander out of the GiantDad's hand, and stood on it's chest as he drew his claymore back, aiming for a swing at the neck.

"Sure," Thomas replied, allowing a bit of smugness in his voice. "What do you call this, then?" Not giving the Darkwraith time to respond, he swung. The Legend's head rolled away,and the body dissolved underneath Thomas' foot. "Right," Thomas said, sheathing his weapon, "Now for the church proper."

The trio forged onward, the hollowed Balder warrios posing minimal challenge one at a time. The Astoran knights dealt with the two that were in the main part of the entryway while Thomas occupied himself with the one hiding in the corner. It prepared a parry, and Thomas countered with Soul Whip. The tendril of magic snaked forward, and clung to it's armor. Thomas yanked backward, pulling the warrior towards him while stabbing forward with the claymore, impaling it on the blade. Shouldering off the body, Thomas gestured at the Berenike knight. "Okay. Here's the plan. One distracts, another attacks. when it turns to face the one who attacked it, another moves in to attack,and so on." They nodded, and moved in. Thomas blasted the knight with a soul arrow, doing no discernible damage but gathering it's attention. Solaire and Oscar fanned out beside him, covering the edges of the room as the knight charged Thomas. It's mace raised high, it slammed down on Thomas, only to hit naught but the floor as the sorcerer nimbly dodged. Oscar came out and poked, and the Knight swung it's mace at Oscar as he jumped backward. Solaire slashed at it's back legs, then rolled to the side as the shield slammed where he just was. Thomas gave a two handed jump attack. And so the pattern continued. The knight fell handily. The prophet then strode towards the altar, towards the Fire-Keeper Soul...

When he was struck in the back by a very painful sorcery, knocking him to the ground.

"Thomas!" Oscar cried out, looking in the direction of the bolt as he readied his bow. The Channeler looked down at the crew, it's six eyes pitilessly boring into them.

 _Damn it,_ Thomas thought. _I should have remembered him._ The Channeler lifted it's staff into the air, and began to chant. _Shit..._ "Oscar, shoot for the head! Interrupt his..." Thomas never finished that sentence, as the Channeler didn't buff, as he suspected it would. Instead, it faded, and then _split,_ becoming three channelers. _Oh for the love of the gods!_ The channelers three then jumped down together, and engaged the companions. One took on Solaire, using it's weapon like a battlestaff, spinning like a dervish. One took on Oscar, attempting to impale Oscar with the forked end of it's spear. And the third took Thomas on, firing spells. Thomas charged foward, and ducked underneath it's blast, using his free hand as a bit of leverage to keep him from falling flat on his face. He very much scuttled along the ground in this manner, ducking under the barrage launched at him, and sliced his claymore at the Channeler's feet. It quickly warped away before he could get another hit in, and reappeared at the second floor. "You mother fucker," Thomas swore. Then it started dancing. "Don't you fucking dare!" he shouted, throwing a bomb at it's face, stunning it a moment.

Solaire was on the defensive, largely using his shield to turn aside his channeler's attacks, when he bashed, slamming his shield into the sorcerer's chest. He then ducked to the side as Thomas leapeed at it, slicing once, twice. He then gave a spinning jump, gripping the weapon with both hands, and decapitated the channeler, which fell to the ground. "Help Oscar!" Thomas barked, and started up the stairs, not bothering to get confirmation from Solaire. He prepared a Soul Whip, and lashed at the Channeler at the top of the second floor. "You are coming back down here," he growled. The channeler stabbed at the cord, failing to break the magickal link, and Thomas ran toward the altar, pulling the eyes of Seath to the ground. Pulling out the claymore, Thomas quicky stabbed it into the Channeler's head.

He crouched there for a moment, breathing heavily as the souls flew into his Darksign. After taking a moment to gather his bearings, he stood up, drawing his blade from within the channeler's skull. Wiping off the blade, Thomas looked around. Solaire and Oscar had aready taken care of the final channeler. "Any more horrible bullshit?" Thomas asked the general area. Thankfully, the sky did _not_ respond to his query. That would raise more questions than it would answer. Nabbing the Soul of the Firekeeper, Thomas gestured towards the left side of the church. "That way," he said, "leads to Firelink Shrine. No bullshit along the way, unless you count Petrus." He then gestured to the other side. "There, there are a few hollows, and then a long pathway leading to a Bonfire, as well as a smith. I intend to get this shit looked at and repaired. Besides, I'd like a divine ember for the claymore."

"Woah woah woah. Hang on, Thomas" Oscar interrupted. "We've been fighting non-stop since the armored boar. Can't we go back to Firelink, and regroup for a minute?" He and Solaire looked pretty tuckered out, to be fair. And a couple times Oscar himself had been hit pretty hard.

"Oscar," Thomas began, "I'm not much a fan of backtracking, just for the sake of backtracking. Once we've taken care of our business at the Wood, we can go back to the Shrine. But all that's left between us and safety is three stupid little hollows. Surely, we can handle that." Without waiting for a confirmation from Oscar, Thomas dusted himself up and readied his claymore and catalyst. Thankfully, he didn't have to go far, as the clanking of armor sets informed him that both knights followed.

AN: When next we arrive, said company will be at the bonfire after a nice rest. I don't feel like making an extra couple sentences of filler for "and then they crossed the bridge" et cetera. We all know what's going on here. Rate and Review!

And yes, I know that the only reason Thomas beat the Legend was because he TOTALLY CHEATED with his whip spell and ganking the Legend, but you know what, a victory is a victory. Let's just hope the Legend stays out, because Thomas has stranger things on his plate... *Overly Dramatic Chipmunk*


	8. The Watcher of the Dark

08

The Watcher of the Dark

The warriors rested at the bonfire, recovering their strength. Thomas had long enjoyed resting at the Parish Bonfire, even when it was all just a game. The relaxing soundfile of the Bonfire on loop. The sound of Andre hammering away below. The (relatively) peaceful Darkroot Garden below, the scenic view of both the abandoned church of Lloyd, as well as the fortress of Sen (Reminder: Warn Oscar and Solaire that they're going to have a bad time. Because when the time came, they were going to have a very, very bad time, indeed.)

"So," Oscar spoke up, breaking him from his reverie. "What's next on the agenda?" In a way, Thomas admired the knight of Astora's bravado. It seemed that, after Thomas reunited him with his brother (accidentally, admittedly), and they had gotten some adventure in him like a hot meal, his spirits had been restored. By renewing his purpose, Thomas had inadvertently saved him from going Hollow. And already they were fucking with the timeline. Not that Thomas minded. The whole "Age of Fire or Age of Dark" ultimatum was kind of bullshit, and did nobody favors. Preserve the rule of gods that were either dead, insane, or about to be both, or let it all fall away into... Nobody knows. Nobody in the Lore communities knew. VaatiVidya, Sunlight Blade, Dave Control, Indiemaus. Nobody had any answers on what the Age of Dark would be like. But Thomas knew how the rest of the series went if the Status Quo was maintained. Even the First Flame had it's limits. The world just was unwilling to accept this. And so, Thomas had to devise something different.

 _If I could just fucking think of something..._ The problem with that is that Thomas didn't think _that_ creatively. And either one he could think of boiled down to either Age of Fire, Age of Dark endings anyways. Thomas leaned back, taking in the silence for a brief moment. There was something keeping him from thinking. Some sense of wrongness. He cocked an ear, raising a hand to silence Solaire when he was about to ask. Indicating that they stayed seated, Thomas rose, listening.

"I don't," Solaire whispered, "hear anything."

That was the problem. For whatever reason, Andre had stopped hammering. Indicating again that the knights stayed put, Thomas drew his blade, and crept downstairs. There were voices. Hushed, and whispered, but Thomas could make out Andre's voice, even when under his breath. "All these years, I've held onto it fer ye. Tis a bit good to get it outta me hands again." That's when the sorcerer saw them.

Andre stood behind his forge, hammer at rest, as he pulled out a large, flat disk wrapped in dark cloth. A silvery pendant, tarnished with age, wrapped around the parcel, but that wasn't what caught Thomas' attention. What caught _that_ was who Andre was handing this package to. A tall, dark figure. He was covered from head to toe in black robes, but not the Gold Trimmed Set of Quelana of Izalith. This was something entirely unique. The man then glanced at Thomas, merely tilting his head towards him. All it really did was tell Thomas that the man knew he was there. Without a word, the man gave a short bow to Andre, and then quickly turned to leave, his steps more quiet than if he had the Slumbering Dragon Crest Ring equipped. Thomas continued down the stairs, and decided to talk to Andre. "So... who was that, out of curiousity?"

Andre stared strangely at Thomas, then glanced back down towards the garden exit, where the cloaked man had left. He stroked his scraggly, soot filled beard thoughtfully, as though a secret had revealed itself to him, and he was taking a moment to process that. "Tis as he said," he whispered. "Tis as he said, indeed..." Thomas didn't hear Andre say this, too busy trying to peer down the stairs, wondering why he didn't hear the sounds of a Titanite Demon getting destroyed. Or even the breathy sounds that they made (which was wierd in and of itself, considering they had no mouths). Hm. Anyways, Thomas had the souls for it, so he may as well buy the thing now now, as opposed to later. _I really don't want to do this bossfight,_ he thought, _but I suppose I should just get it over with..._

"One Crest of Artorias, please," he asked, souls filling his hand as he prepared for the transaction.

"Eh? What makes ye think I would carry such an item as _that_ for sale?" What.

"Um..." Thomas didn't really know how to respond to this. "The Crest of Artorias. For the sealed door in the Gardens. I'd like to buy it." He held up the souls in his hands as emphasis. "I know you're the one that holds onto it, thanks to my Sight, Andre. So please, let's just get this transaction overwith."

"Listen, young wizard," Andre responded, his gravelly voice low. "That item was entrusted t'me many, many years ago, under very specific conditions, y'see. T'was on loan, and The Watcher only recently came to collect on't." Thomas' eyes widened. The man in black. The leather wrapped, dishlike parcel. The tarnished chain with-

"The Silver Pendant," Thomas breathed. There was no time. He had to catch up to this "Watcher" before he disappeared entirely. Rushing down the stairs, Thomas ran towards the garden, before taking note of the emptiness of the large room. The Titanite Demon was already destroyed, possibly a long time ago. The Watcher was apparently tough. Thomas had planned on having Solaire deal with the Demon using his lightning, while Thomas and Oscar assisted with ranged arrows and spells. But the Watcher had alrady dealt with it an an unknown length of time. Rushing to the Garden proper, Thomas noticed a distinctive lack of the "scarecrows," as he called them. What there was, however, was a few bastard swords planted in the ground, here and there. Ocassionally there were variations of greatswords, but mainly Bastard Swords. _I thought swords only littered the ground at the Graveyard._ The blades were in various degrees of rust and decay as he wandered the garden. Some looked like they had been there for a few hundred years, others looked like only a couple months. Some practically gleamed, as though they had been placed last week.

Thomas eventually arrived at a large clearing, both in terms of blades and trees. Still none of the Devilish Shrubberies had presented themselves to him, but he still felt watched. To his top left, he saw where the Wolf Ring would be. Or at least... where he thought it should be. Instead, there was nothing, except darkness and... smoke. The smoke suddenly launched itself forward, and exploded around the Sorcerer. Choking, Thomas fell to a knee, waving his hand in front of his face. The black smoke didn't last long without a source of fire, and quickly faded. Across the end of the clearing, the black robed man stood. The Watcher.

Thomas stood, a hand on his claymore on his back as he warily watched the Watcher. The warrior stood easily a head taller than he did, and moved slowly, deliberately, like a wolf stalking it's prey. He moved around, and Thomas did the same, so that they started circling each other. As they did, the Watcher moved a hand to his throat, unbuckling the robes, letting them fall to the ground. A broad, wide blade hung from his back that Thomas couldn't identify. It was wholly unique, like this entire man. Hmm... Thomas gave a closer look at the blade on the Watcher's back. It was wide, and flat, with a curved crossguard like a Black Knight's straightsword, but curving towards the blade, instead of the hilt. Simplistic, and deadly. This blade too, was dark. The warrior's armor was similarly a dark garb, with minimal plating, and his face was obscured both by dark hood and a mask underneath it. The Watcher made no motion towards his weapon, while Thomas kept his in hand.

"Who are you," Thomas asked. The Watcher did not respond. Merely kept circling. "Look," Thomas began. "I gotta give you props. You're intimidating as fuck. I... I don't much like the concept of crossing blades with you. But I'll do it if you force me to. You're not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve." Thomas pulled out his catalyst, readying a spell. "I need to borrow the Crest of Artorias. You can have it right back, I swear on the River Styx." The Watcher kept circling. Kept stalking. Silence was the only answer he gave. "All right," Thomas said. "I tried asking." They stopped circling, almost as though one knew when the other would stop. "Now," Thomas continued, "I'm telling you. Drop the crest, and I won't have to hurt you." It was then that the Watcher made the first known sound in many an age.

The Watcher laughed. A low, throaty chuckle that was as creepily sinister as it was deep. The very forest seemed to echo, and yet not, from the laugh. It seemed not to so much as come from the Watcher so much as it did from the forest itself. "Nay," it rumbled. "Ye shall not have it, yet. Thine time is not yet come, _Prophet of Earthrealm._ " Thomas' eyes widened. He had only used that title to Oscar and Solaire. How did...

Fuck it. Combat time. The sorcerer jabbed his catalyst at the Watcher, firing a Soul Arrow. The bolt of magical energy flew towards the creepy mother fucker and he stood there. Waited till the last second.

And _side stepped the spell._ The Watcher made an effort of looking towards the bolt as it flew past, and then looked back at him. He made no sound. Merely looked back at Thomas. The very silence mocked the sorcerer, who threw three more bolts at the Watcher. The shadowy figure jumped, backflipped over a bolt, frontflipped over another, and ducked underneath the third like he was Albert fucking Wester. As he ducked low to the ground, he drew his broad greatsword, holding it horizontally above the ground with no visible effort, in spite of doing so with one hand. _High strength, Darkwood Grain Ring,_ the Prophet thought to himself, and was forced to think of little else as the Watcher started to run towards him. Thomas put his Catalyst away, and drew his shield instead. Ranged attacks were just plain useless. He'd have to be up close and personal.

The Watcher gave a downward swing which Thomas rolled backward from. Moving forward as it attacked, The Watcher forced him to dodge again as the warrior twisted during his swing, letting the momentum of his last attack move into the next. Thomas barely was able to study the timing, and threw his shield up to parry the next strike.

It didn't work, because the third strike from the Watcher had _just enough_ delay to it that he didn't swing until Thomas's shield was wide open. Spinning like a dervish, the Watcher sliced at him, cutting into the Sorcerer's light robes and the soft flesh underneath. Then, for insult to injury, the Watcher jumped into the air, twisted in midair, and kicked Thomas in the face, knocking him down. Thomas looked up from the dirt, winded, as the Watcher landed nimbly, and clutched his blade in both hands. The Prophet barely managed to roll out of the way as the Watcher stabbed the ground, right where his heart was but seconds ago. "HAH!" Thomas whipped out his Catalyst, bringing out Soul Whip to try and catch the Watcher. He merely swayed back, and avoided the tongue of magic altogether. _Who the fuck_ is _this guy?!_ The Watcher leapt, swinging singlehandedly with the weapon in his left hand. _Shit! He can do this left handed, too?_ The Watcher kept at him, the wild swinging of his blade keeping Thomas more than just on his toes. He was almost on his _heels._ He brought his shield up as the Watcher began a flurry of blows that slid along his shield, allowing him to keep his momentum, but still wore down Thomas' stamina. _Speaking of, how much does_ he _have?!_

It was a fair question, all things considering, But Thomas wasn't given an opportunity to explore that, as his own stamina was almost gone. He would wait till the last moment to try and roll away, to try and get some space, when the next blow came at a strange angle, and _wrenched_ his shield arm away from his body, leaving him exposed. The Watcher's right arm flashed to his hip, grabbing a strange, curved dagger Thomas had never seen before, either in game or even on the Warrior's person, and sliced it across the sorcerer's throat in a single, efficient swing. Thomas's Bleed buildup had increased tremendously, and almost filled in the single swing, but the damage from the dagger itself was much larger than a regular dagger's. What was it reinforced at, +154 or some bullshit?! Thomas was given no time to think on it. The first cut was only the first part of the Watcher's swing. Not even turning the blade, the Watcher chopped into Thomas' throat a second time, pulling it's arm back in a way that gave Thomas a flashback. Another warrior, from seemingly another world. One who fought with blade and dagger. One who also took the name of the Watcher.

Thomas fell to his knees, dying. His fingers scrabbled at the estus flask only to feel the tip of the Watcher's blade under his chin. "The Graveyard is closed to you, Prophet. Thine path lies elsewhere," The Watcher stated this matter of factly. Thou wilt remain clear, if thou wishest to avoid this again. "When thou see'st the forest of blades, know thou'rt a tresspasser, and unwelcome." With that, the Watcher stabbed Thomas in the throat, impaling his neck with the blade. The warrior then lifted Thomas to a standing position and, in a quick flourish, spun, drawing the blade out of Thomas and spinning with such speed he didn't even see the blade come to chop off his head.

Author's Note:  
I would be surprised if you didn't have an immense number of questions right now, especially concerning who the fuck THIS motherfucker is. Well now...

 _*finger shake*_

I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Let me keep my secrets, for now.


	9. The Ringing of the First Bell

09

The Ringing of the First Bell

Thomas awoke at the bonfire with a start. Phantom pains ran along his body where the Watcher had beaten him... broken him. Who _was_ that guy...? His train of thought was immediately was broken, however, by his compansion. "Prophet, what happened?" Oscar scrabbled at his inventory, pulling out a glowing black shape. A Humanity sprite. Thomas took it, and popped. The feeling of humanity filling his body was pleasant. More than that, actually. It was the biggest rush he ever felt. He wanted more... needed more... If he had to farm the rats in the Depths for the rest of his days...

Woah.

Thomas put a hand on the ground, and shook his head, clearing his mind. _Do you want to end up like the Four Kings? Because that kind of thinking is how you end up like the Four Kings._ Offering his Humanity to the flames, he restored himself, and the buzzing feeling in the back of his head cleared. Though, the whole unhollowing process still felt... well, unnatural.. _I'm going to need to be more careful, next time._ The prophet stood up, and smiled wanly at the group. "Well. let's put it this way; I got my ass fucking _handed_ to me. I wasn't able to get the Crest, which means I won't be able to access the Forest Hunter covenant, unless I feel like on going a really long ass way out of my fucking way to deal with it, which I DON'T feel like doing, by the way, and I'll have to deal with giant cats, amongst other things like demonically possessed lawn garden art, and OH FUCKING SHIT!" This last bit was shouted so loudly, Andre stopped hammering below. The silence persisted for a moment, and then Andre resumed his work. Thomas took a breath, and spoke again. "I have to get my souls."

Striding into the forest, Thomas was again caught by the eerieness. His hand went to his own claymore, and he took comfort in the solid weapon in his hand, but he did not draw. The boy continued on, and eventually came to the edge of what Thomas had decided to call "Bladewood". For there were as many blades impaled in the trees, and the ground as there were trees growing from it. Now that Thomas wasn't rushing, Thomas could take a moment to inspect. Some of the smaller trees had a blade impaled next to them. Other, thicker trees had the blade impaled in them. Some trees had blades imbedded on them so long ago, that the damage that such an act would do was long healed over, and the trees had grown around them, some even to the hilt. Curiousity getting the better of him, Thomas reached out to grab a blade. It looked suspiciously like-

An arrow chose this moment to impale itself on his foot.

Cursing, Thomas knelt down, and broke the back of the arrow, sliding his foot up so that the arrow would slide out. He then sipped a bit of Estus, hollow soldier shield up, and then crushed the arrow in spite. "PHARIS! Where are you?" There was no answer for a long time. A warrior walked forward, then. Plated greaves covered the archer's legs. Plated metals covered his upper arms as well, with his left hand encased in a metal gauntlet, and the right hand had a leather gloves, with holes cut for the fingers to better grip the string of the bow. A plated chestplate could be occasionally witnessed underneath a loose dark-brown shawl, and the warrior's face was hidden in the shrouds of his earthen colored hood. A black, broad bladed greatsword was slung over his back. A pair of quivers, filled each with arrows crossed over his rear, and a curved stone dagger hung from each hip. "You know my name," The warrior stated. The tone was determined. Certain. Unquestioning.

And feminine.

 _Shit. Tumblr would have my fucking head over this._ Thomas did a brief mental double-take, but physically kept his composure intact. "Why, yes. I do. I am a prophet. There is little that escapes my Sight. Not that I need to be a prophet to know of the legend of the great archer known as Pharis." If the story worked, after all, keep running with it.

Underneath the shadow of her hood, Thomas thought he could detect traces of a smirk. "All right, then, prophet. Tell me how many archers are currently pointing arrows at both you and your little friends, waiting for the slightest indication to turn you into quivers for tresspassing in the Bladewood, once the lost land of Oolacile."

 _Okay, first of all, how did I manage to guess the name of this place. Second of all, shit._ Thomas had no idea where the archers where or how many. He'd have to guess. But he could stall for time. "Well. I am fully aware that The Watcher is a smart warrior. So I would surmise that he would have enough. You guys are pack hunters, like the Undead Legion to come. While I am focused on you, the arrows of the enemy would would come not from the front, where they would risk hitting you, but from the side." Thomas spread his arms out, palms up as he indicated their general directions. "Two full volleys from archers that I should have no way of knowing were even there, because they all have rings of fog, like most of you in Alvina's covenant."

Pharis relaxed the string on her bow. With her draw hand, she pushed back the hood, revealing features common to one from Carim, along with dark red hair and piercing green eyes. "The Master was right. You _are_ a clever one." She smirked, facial features taking on a conspiratory tone. Blame her Carim heritage for that. They always look slightly sinister. "So. Why do you trespass upon the Bladewood? Lying will not be tolerated."

"Of course not," Thomas responded, slightly sarcastic in tone. "That would be ever so dreadful. Well, I'd like to join your covenant, and I'd like to recover my souls from where the Watcher bested me in combat."

"Your request to join is refused, flat out, prophet." This new voice reverberated through the woods as The Watcher emerged from the shadows,a Ring of Fog slipping off of his finger and into his pocket. He was dressed differently than the last time. Last time he was more cloak and robes than armor. Now he was girded fully in plate armor. It looked like a combination of the Knight Chestplate, Elite Knight Leggings, as well as either Knight or Elite Knight Gauntlets, and on top of all that he had the Elite Knight Helmet equipped, hiding his face. On his back was the same broad bladed greatsword he decapitated Thomas with before, covered by the Balder Shield. Additionally behind his back was a quiver of arrows, a twisted looking wooden catalyst, a talisman made from a highly worn cloth, with his strange curved dagger on his hip. Now that Thomas took a closer look at the Watcher, he also was certain that the warrior's hand was lightly on fire. _A pyromancy flame? Is there anything this guy can't do? What the fuck is his soul level?_ Thomas had already been beaten by this guy once just with his weapons, and he was much less prepared than he clearly is now. The Watcher looked ready to take on a few armies. Solo. And win.

Pharis was apparently just as surprised by the Watcher's presence as Thomas was. She quickly backed away, and knelt before the Watcher. Thomas instinctively drew his claymore, but was no fool. He stepped back, not forward. The Astoran knights looked at him, as though seeking guidance on what to do. "At ease, Prophet," The Watcher spoke. "I won't attack. Not first, anyways..."

"Any reason I can't join?" Thomas asked, the question simple.

"Because I have decreed it, Child of EarthRealm." Again Thomas was thrown by that. Nobody knew that except Oscar and Solaire. "Thou know'st less than thee thinkest. Go. Reclaim thine souls. Ringest thine bells. Seek thou the Lordvessel. And then..." The Watcher's voice stopped for but a moment, and then spoke again. "Seekest ye the Dusk." This time, his voice was quieter. Instead of reverberating throughout the entirety of the forest, The Watcher's voice seemed to come from the man instead. The warrior's voice was husky, low, and seemed to hold an impenetrable sadness within it. Turning, the warrior began to walk off.

"Wait!" Thomas started to run ater him. "Who the fuck are you?" The only answer he received was to have the air in front of him riddled with arrows coming from either direction. Thomas fell forward trying to stop, and stayed down, waiting for the hail of wooden shafts to die down. To be completely fair, it WAS quicker to fade than he would admit, but it still felt like hours of time passed as the arrows flew. When the arrows finally died down, The sorcerer stayed down for a little longer, just to make sure, and slowly picked himself up. Looking around, he noticed with distaste that the Watcher was already gone from sight. "Fucking hell..." turning back to Pharis, he jammed a finger at the arrows littering the ground. "What the fuck was that about?"

"It was a warning shot," Pharis replied cooly. "Each of the Clan wanted you to know that pursuing him would be a foul mistake, indeed." She slung her bow on her back, then. "Now, I shall escort you to your souls, and then back to the edges of the Bladewood. To stray from me is to die. I suggest you keep up." With that, she strode forward, leaving Thomas to quickly scamble after her.

At the edges of Bladewood once more, Thomas took a moment to thank Pharis. "It was nothing, Prophet," she responded, giving a small smile. "One must act professional, especially with the Clan."

Thomas thought for a moment, and decided to go for it. "So, I'd like to ask a couple questions. What is your covenant called. How's Sif? And who the fuck is the Watcher?"

Pharis' eyes held a mischievous gleam to them. "You truly do not know? The Master was true to his words, it seems." She stepped closer to him. "You may seek the butterfly, yes. As to everthing else I say, heed the Old Wolf's words. Your questions are already answered, then." Thomas was about to object, when she raised a hand to shush him. "He swore me to secrecy on this matter, most specifically. You shall get no words from me."

Thomas cursed, indignant. "And what WILL I get from you?" he asked grouchily. The renowned archer looked at him again, a glint in her eyes, before grabbing his tunic, and pulling him to her. "Hey! What-" And then she was kissing him. _Okay what the fuck is going on why is what the fuck I can't even what!_ Then just as quickly as it happened, it was over, Pharis already backing away, melting into the shadows of the woods. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT?!"

A chuckle could be heard from the shadowy gloom. "Trust me, Thomas. You'll understand when you're older..."

This only made Thomas even more indignant. "I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW I AM TWENTY THREE YEARS OLD! I'M OLD ENOUGH DAMN IT!" After no silence came from the gloom, the sorcerer screamed in frustration. Several minutes later, the boy manage to compose himself. "At least Solaire and Oscar weren't here to witness that. Thomas needed to seek Dusk, apparently. The Princess should be in her usual spot. But the Watcher said to get the Lordvessel first, so he needed to kill some Gargoyles. And Queelag... His thumb rubbed against the Old Witch's Ring on his finger. He had the barest inklings of a plan in his head. It needed fine tuning, but he had one forming, at least. Back at the Bonfire, Thomas spent his souls, and barely managed to have enough to use the Black Knight Shield. That was the good news. The bad news was that he no longer could fast roll, and instead could only medium roll. Unless he felt like switching out the claymore for his little dagger again. And honestly, forget that noise. He'd just spend a couple points on Endurance next time he leveled up. "Solaire. Oscar." The knights perked up. "Battle time."

They swept up the stairs like a force of nature. The Balder knight fell easily. Next was the group of hollows. "Solaire!" Thomas barked. "You and I defend Oscar. Oscar. Spear 'em." The knights gave their affirmatives as the Sorcerer hefted the blackened shield of the knight of Gwyn. The hollows' broken blades bounced off harmlessly, with Thomas barely feeling it thanks to the shield's hella stability. "Oh, yeah, baby. You are getting ALL the Twinkling Titanite in Anor Londo." Them dealt with, the party climbed the stairs till they arrived at the fog gate. "So. Our enemies are gargoyles," Thomas explained. "Solaire, you and I will initially take point in a triangle formation to pepper the first one with spells. Then, I'll take point while you guys attack it from the sides. We'll need to kill it quickly, before his friend wakes up. Ready?" The knights clashed their weapons on their shields, raring to go, and they stepped into the fog.

As they walked forward, Thoams heard stone cracking as the first gargoyle awoke, and jumped down, screeching. "Ow. My ears." As it charged forward, Thomas sent forth his best soul arrow (so, a regular soul arrow) while Solaire hit it with a bolt of lightning. The sorcerer then pulled out his shield, and started blocking as the warriors fanned out around him. The plan went well, all things considered. Thomas was able to barely hold off on the attacks while the knights went to town. Then the Gargoyle decided that Thomas wasn't a threat, and turned on Oscar, axe til swinging at Solaire. "Bad move," Thomas muttered as he pulled out his catalyst, and then two handed his claymore, making a leap attack at the tail before he severed it in the savage blow. The Gargoyle roared in pain, and Thomas quickly picked up the tail, sheathing his claymore as he two handed the tail axe. Both he and the gargoyle spun. The Gargoyle spun to face him, screaming in rage. Thomas spun to gain momentum as he smacked the edge of the axe blade into it's owner's face.

The Gargoyle jumped back, and landed next to his buddy. "Crap," Thomas muttered. The gargoyle ripped it's axe tail out of it's face, and then threw it aside, and both of them opened their mouths, fire burning in their collective maws. Pulling out his shield, The boy quickly popped some green blossom in his mouth, and chewed as he walked forward, shield raised. The fires struck his shield and washed around him, but did little damage, thanks to the shield's innate resistance to fire. Thomas lowered his sield for a brief moment, and his stamina was restored as he thrust the claymore into the first gargoyle's chest. It screamed as it fell, dead. Thomas allowed himself a congratulatory "Hell yeah" before bringing his shield up to block more flames. Oscar and Solaire had already moved around it, and started battering it with their weapons, quickly felling the weakened creature.

There was no lying. All three were breathing heavily after that battle. But hey, apart from some burns on Thomas, they had a flawless victory. Nothing remained but to ascend to the top, and ring the bell. Once there, Thomas stopped. "Guys, you might want to cover your ears for this."

Oscar instead, stubbornly shook his head. "We struggled much to come here. I will hear this bell's din in all it's glory." Solaire chuckled in response, motioning for Thomas to move on. The sorcerer merely shrugged and pulled the lever.


	10. Preemptive Measures

10

Preemptive Measures

"Greetings! I am-"

"Oswald of Carim, Pardoner of Velka," Thomas interrupted. "Hey, guy, I got a quick question for you, if I may."

If the Pardoner held any surprise at Thomas knowing whom he was, he gave no indication, arms remaining as outstretched as they ever were. He did, however, cock his head at Thomas peculiarly. "Not many come bearing questions. Go ahead, then, and ask. For all Sin is my domain."

"Prophet," Solaire asked. "You know this man?" He seemed quiet, as though he sensed that Thomas had a good question needing answered, but his curiousity won out. Oscar, however, had learned to trust Thomas' judgement, even when it seemed flawed at the outset.

 _He brought us this far, and we even rung the bell._ Not to mention he swore an oath. He would follow him where he needed to be.

Thomas, speaking of, merely raised a hand, signaling to Solaire that he would answer his question after he asked his own. "All right. Say I murder someone. That is a sin, is it not?" At Oswald's nod, Thomas continued. "All right. But say I took that life to protect another. Would that be a sin, as well?"

"Hmmm... An astute question. One I do not hear often..." Oswald stood more normally, folding his arms in front of him, as he thought on this matter. "My Lady holds that there is a punishment for every Sin, save those whom seek atonement. And yet..." he thought for a bit longer. "I do not think a judgement would be on one's soul if you acted to save another."

"All right," Thomas replied, popping his knuckles. "Boys, let's go to Firelink Shrine. We're going to pay Lautrec a visit before he commits murder."

"Lautrec, you say!" Oswald's sudden voice stopped him, and he noticed that The Pardoner had a hand on his rapier.

"Yeah, also known as the Embraced. Wears golden armor, allegedly favored by-"

"Fina." Now, it was Oswald's turn to cut Thomas off. "He has many sins against him already. If you can, send him unto me. If not, slay him, with the blessing of Velka."

That said, Thomas went downstairs immediately, stopping only to pick up the Firekeeper Soul at the Parish. _How did I neglect to grab that before, anyways?_ When they reached the elevator, Thomas then noticed a small problem. "There's only enough room for one at a time. Shame. Don't worry guys, I won't face Lautrec without Backup." After a bit of grumbling, Thomas went down the elevator, and decided to pester Petrus for some miracles. "All right," Thomas muttered. "Get the Heal Miracle, at least. That'll help save on Estus. Get Force, too, and call it good. I don't have THAT much f-what the FUCK!?"

Thomas had rounded the corner to Petrus, and for a brief moment the area was absolutely crowded with people. Along with the usual clerics and Rhea, there was a Sorcerer in Brown robes, 3 knights in Catarina, Elite Knight, and Sunlight armor. A woman in robes with a wide brimmed, pointy hat. And a warrior in rocky armor that carried a large "Tooth. Dragon tooth. HAVEL!" Thomas instinctively rolled backward, raising his black knight shield to protect him from the incoming blow... that never came. Thomas peered over his shield, and saw that the group was still there, and yet... not. They were transparent. Like thirty three percent opacity transparent, and fading fast. He was instinctively reminded of the words of Solaire from in the game, how the barriers between worlds had weakened. Was this some other Undead's journey? How the fuck did they get Havel and Beatrice on their path? As well as Oscar, Solaire, AND SEIGMEYER! _Reminder that I need to save him as well._ And Thomas had little doubt that that's who they were. It was unlikely a group of people doing some cosplay souls.

As Thomas watched, the strange party faded from view entirely. "Are you all right, Thomas?" Oscar asked curiously. Thomas stood, lowering his shield as he did so.

"Yeah. Solaire here?" At the Warrior of Sunlight's confirmation, Thomas breathed a little easier. "Praise the sun. Let's bug a cleric." Striding forward, he threw open his arms as he walked to Petrus. "HEY! PETRUS!"

The Cleric looked up at him, frowning. "Do I know you?"

"No," Thomas responded. "You don't know me at all. But I know you." Thomas looked the cleric deeply in the eyes. "I know all about you and that hyena," he then growled. Petrus fell over, gaining the other clerics' attention.

"He's a vicious heathen who tried to attack me!" Petrus claimed, "KILL HIM!" Vince and Nico moved forward to intercept Thomas, and his own knights readied their weapons.

"STOP!" A man's voice and a woman's rang out simultaneously. Thomas looked past the clerics to the young woman who shouted with him. "Rhea of Thorolund," he smiled amicably. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Thomas knelt with Rhea in prayer as they concluded a long discussion, held in private, away from both knight and cleric. Upon rising, Thomas turned to find the maiden crying softly. "I trusted them. Petrus. The Church. Have the gods abandoned us so?"

Thomas shook his head. "Nah." Upon Rhea's questioning look, he continued. "Humans are rotten. The gods... not so much." That was rather a lie, to be fair. Seath kidnapped women for his experiments while Gwyn turned a blind eye to it all, to make a couple examples. But he wouldn't inflict that knowledge on her. "But Petrus. He's no man of the gods. I will help you get the rite of Kindling. But for now you have to trust me." Rhea nodded, another tear falling as she did so.

"Do what thou needst done."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rushing forward, Thomas jabbed his catalyst. A string of magical energy shot forward, attaching to Petrus' chest. "By the Lords! What is this?" the cleric shouted. Thomas suddenly thought of a trick he saw Wonder Woman do once, and decided to try and imitate. Lifting his leg, he wrapped it around the Soul Whip, rested his foot on top of the string, and stomped. The force of the pull threw Petrus bodily onto his face. For a brief moment, Thomas wondered how to get his leg untangled from the whip, when it faded entirely. Convenient. Pointing his catalyst, crackling with Soul Energy, Thomas made his declaration.

"Petrus of Thorolund," he began. "Thou art accused of treachery against the gods, by plotting with the Church of Lloyd and the thief Patches the Hyena to send undead clerics to their deaths. What dost thou sayest in thine defense?"

Petrus spat. "Thou hast no evidence of wrongdoing. Thine false accusations shall bear thee no fruit!"

Thomas smirked. "Oh really. Then ready thine weapons. Let us see whom the gods favor."

The challenge was given. Trial by combat. And judging by Petrus readying his mace and talisman, it was accepted.

Petrus led with his Emit Force miracle, which Thomas sidestepped. He then jabbed his sorcery catalyst again, and the Soul Whip snaked out, latching onto Petrus' talisman. A quick yank, and no more miracles for THAT cleric. Two handing his spiked mace, Petrus charged forward, only for Thomas to parry him with his shield, and then impaled the cleric with his claymore. Taking it a step further, Thomas dropped his shield, and drew his catalyst. "You..." Petrus coughed. "Will regre-OGH!" Thomas didn't afford him a chance to speak, shoving the tip of his catalyst into the cleric's mouth.

"Eat this."

The sorcerer fired his catalyst, and the end result was not exactly what he expected.

He had expected to fire a single Soul Arrow. Instead, Petrus' body started to glow blue. Kicking the cleric off of his sword, Thomas backed up as the glow increased in intensity, watching, observing as this new accidental spell did it's work.

The cleric started to groan in pain, and his groans soon became shrieks. He clawed at his robes, his flesh, as the magical energy burned him from the inside out. Smoke started to leak from his ears and nose, tears streaming from the Cleric's eyes as he begged the gods, begged Thomas, for mercy. For forgiveness. He swore he would never plot to betray undead clerics. Just make the pain stop. Thomas made it stop. He thrust his claymore into the cleric's prone form, slaying him.

Thomas stood there for a moment, troubled. _That was... actually kind of horrifying to watch. What the hell was that, anyways?_ He blinked into his inventory, quickly manuevering into the spells list, and looked at the third spell he had.

 _Burrowing Penance_

 _Sorcery created by a wandering mage from a far off land and time. Administered directly into the target's body, this spell cruelly burns the body from the inside, causing massive pain to the victim. Interestingly, this spell is more effective against those who have commited acts of evil without absolution, making it the most effective way of determining guilt. For while it will not kill quickly, the agony of the sinner's final moments are enough to where they feel all the suffering they have caused others._

"Well ain't that Ghost Rider as fuck," Thomas muttered. "I wonder how else I can just fucking break the rules here..." Thomas surveyed his surroundings. Everyone was looking at him with a mixture of awe and fear. Mostly fear. All things considered, Thomas didn't blame them a damn bit.

"Well... Isn't that interesting." Lautrec's honeyed voice lilted through the air as Thomas turned to face him. "It would seem like the gods favored you, sorcerer, as opposed to one of their own devout clerics."

Thomas kept his gaze level. "He was no devout."

"All right then. If you are so devout, then a miracle should be no problem for you, then."

 _Shit._ Thomas knew no miracles. This would well be problematic. Trying to stall for time, and a solution, Thomas backed towards Rhea. "Would you believe me if I said that, for all my faith, I had no tutors?" Looking at Rhea, he made a show of kneeling. "I would be honoured if thou would teach me." Thomas was bluffing about his Faith. He had minimal levels, stat wise.

Rhea, surprised by both Petrus' rather gruesome demise and Thomas' offer, paused, stammering for a bit. "I... sure. I would be pleased to tutor you."

Vince and Nico paused. "And what are we to do, then? Wander off and go hollow? Or follow some mad wizard into unknown peril?"

Thomas smiled. "You are free to do as you wish, though admittedly I'd be delighted if you were to accompany me." Vince stormed off in a huff. Nico looked on sadly, but eventually joined the former. "Also, Lautrec?" The Embraced Knight looked at Thomas curiously. "Leave Anastacia alone, or you'll answer to me, next. You can flee to Anor Londo itself. But I will find you. And I will kill you. Go. Seek atonement. And you won't have to deal with me knocking." At this, Thomas' party, now including Rhea, started to go up the stairs to the Parish.

Author's Note: Would you believe that I thought of both Soul Whip and Burrowing Penance right before actually putting them into the story? Ah well. Rate and Review, and feel free to keep suggesting some spells/sorceries/pyromancies. The ones I like I'll see about incorporating into the story in an organic manner. (one such suggestion was already implemented in Chapter 08, though I did tweak it a bit. Shit will be made clear soon enough. Also, what do you think of Burrowing Penance? Was the "Increased Power based on the victims' sins" bit a bit much, or nah?

Author's Other Note: As far as the group of knights is concerned, I'm just going to say that some fun shit is being planned, and that when it happens, you're going to think "Oh that is so cool." Until that time comes, you get no more secrets from me about it.


	11. Unforgiven By Moonlight

11  
Unforgiven By Moonlight

"Miracles art unlike thine sorceries," Rhea began. Solaire stood alongside Thomas, their talismans in hand. Oscar was keeping watch, but remained in sight. "Depend'st they upon faith in the gods. Not upon one's mind. Tell'st me, Thomas. What dost thou think'st of the gods?"

 _Oh, boy. Here we go._ Thomas had all sorts of words he could say about the gods. But this time, he went with the simplest answer. "Something I've learned from my visions. The gods are not all seeing, all knowing, or even all powerful." Rhea and Solaire looked at Thomas as though his words were the epitome of heresy. Technically, one could argue that it was, after all. "The gods are a lot more like humans, I believe. They are capable of loving. Of hatred. They know joy. Sorrow. Pain. But more than anything, they can feel fear. They are almost as human as we are. And I choose to believe that, even though the gods made plenty of mistakes, that they did so out of the belief that what they did was the best course of action. They overthrew the everlasting dragons because they believed that they could create a better world than was. And for a time, they were right..." Thomas fell silent, then looked up. "Does that answer your question?"

Solaire's face was unable to be read under his helm. Rhea gave a small smile. "To know the mistakes of the gods, and yet to still believ'st in them... Methinks I that thou hast more faith than thee givs't credit. Think'st I that even the toughest miracles art within thine reach."

Wait a second. That couldn't be right. That would imply Thomas had about thirty-ish Faith, at least. But he didn't recall putting points into it. He blinked open his UI and looked at his stats, trying to get some answers. _What in the everlasting fuck?_ Thomas didn't know what he was looking at here. His stats, and Soul Level, were... in flux. His Strength, Dex, Vit and End were all mostly static, but everything else was really fluctuating. Especially his Faith. What was causing it? Regardless, Thomas decided his stats screen was no longer able to be trusted. _I suppose that this is what I get for fucking with the game..._ "All right. Let's see if I can do this." Concentrating, Thomas muttered a brief prayer, words unbidden falling from his lips. "Hevno Slen..."

Solaire looked at Thomas strangely. "Friend, this is not the prayer to the miracle Rhea taught..." He fell silent, then, as a grey-golden light tinged around the sorcerer, with a hint of reddish light forming around him. "By the Lords! Thomas! What manner of power is that?"

"I... I'm not sure. Lemme check..." Opening his spells list, Thomas looked at the new miracle he had unintentionally created.

 _Stone Flesh_

 _Miracle developed by a heretical student from a far off land and time. Temporarily increases physical damage resistance, but also increases the caster's susceptability to lightning damage._

 _Long ago, there was a young apprentice who tapped into the power of ancient dragons. This spell is but an excerpt, as tatters remain today of the full prayer. The Ancient Lords, ever mindful of the dreadful power of their ancient foes, frown quite heavily upon the use of this miracle._

"Well, apparently I'm technically a heretic now. I just created a miracle that taps into the power of some motherfucking dragons... Seath, Eat your fucking heart out." Curious, Thomas tried giving a couple rolls, and found that, to his delight, his rolling speed was unaffected by the miracle. "Adios, Iron Flesh. I shall no longer require thee."

Rhea looked at Thomas with minor confusion. "I understand not. If thou art a sorcerer, why dost thee bring disrespect to the Duke Seath, also called the Grandfather of Sorcery?"

Thomas grimaced. "Well, it might have something to do with the fact that Seath is a giant douche." At their collective gasps, Thomas shrugged. "I'm not wrong. What else would you call a guy who regularly kidaps maidens for his experiments." Silence, and Thomas continued. "Okay, sure, _technically_ he has his servants do the kidnapping, but that doesn't make him less of a douche." Having said his piece, he folded his arms.

His two companions remained silent, and Oscar spoke up, apparently having heard Thomas' outburst. "Surely... If Seath commited these atrocities... Gwyn would have punished him." Thomas merely shook his head sadly. On an offhand note, he observed that his miracle faded away.

"He turned a blind eye to it all, and jailed his friend, Bishop Havel, for trying to do something about it. You'd thinkGwyn would do something after Seath kidnapped a couple of people from Gwynevere's Princess Guard covenant, but nah. Nothing."

Rhea looked troubled. "Woulds't Seath have kidnapped me, if he had the chance."

Thomas thought for a moment, before responding slowly. "There are many secrets of this world that Ormagöden gifted me with. Some of them are not meant for mortals. But yes. Seath would totally have abducted you."

The priestess nodded. "Then I am in thine debt, doubly so. First for Petrus, and then for preventing my abduction at the hands of the Paledrake." The group looked troubled, as though picturing what the scaless dragon would have done to her, even thought Thomas knew exactly what. "Come, my friends," Rhea continued. "Let us move on. Prophet of Ormagöden. Dost thou know our next objective?"

"Yes, actually," Thomas smiled. "First off, we need to get you a weapon. Then, Solaire and Oscar will train you up while I hit the woods to get the Divine Ember from the Moonlight Butterfly. Hopefully Beatrice will listen to me when I summon her so that she WON'T go and fight the Four Kings. After I get the Ember, we hit the Lower Undead Burg to save a stupid fucking sorcerer who _totally_ got himself locked in a room. Then we slay a demon, and hit the depths to kill some slimes, get some green titanite shards, and save a pyromancer from being eaten alive. Then we stick around in the depths, killing slimes and rats for Humanity and Titanite Shards."

Rhea looked puzzled. "Thomas, why dost thou delay me on my holy..." She paused, then, remembering how the prophet explained that her "Holy Mission" was nothing more than the church dumping it's undead members like trash. "Why the delays?"

Thomas smiled. "Well, simply put, there are a LOT of necromancers in the catacombs, and unless you have a divine weapon, the skeletons you knock down will just get right back up. They'll stay dead when div'ed, though. Speaking of, though, what do you have for a weapon?"

She shook her head. "I was not raised for the art of war, I'm afraid. I have mine staff, but I fail to see how it wouldst help either thee or me, especially against a demon like you mentioned."

 _Shit,_ Thomas thought to himself. _They really did send her in more green than a blade of grass._ "Well, that's all right," Thomas responded out loud. "Between me, Solaire, and Oscar, you'll be ready to face the Dragon of Calamity itself. For now, let's see about getting you at least some kind of proper weapon. Then you'll be trained while I play Fetch Quest."

Going to Andre, they allowed the smith to give her a look over. "Hm... Royal upbringing, and yet no weapons practice? How'd the lords of Thorolund expect for the lads and lasses to defend the'selves? Ye be green as a field, lass." Andre, gruff as ever, was not one to beat around the bush. "That said, I my have something that can work for ye." Rummaging around in his weapons pile, Andre muttered to himself as he tossed away weapons, before pulling out a strange staff. It was a staff, yes, but at either end was a curved blade. With four feet of staff, and another foot for each blade, the whole thing was just a little bit longer than Rhea was tall. The staff was reinforced, and there was a strange insignia near the center.

Rhea took the battlestaff, giving it an experimental twirl. "Tis heavier than my own staff, but it should suffice. How much doth I owe thee?" Andre shook his head. "The pleasure be mine. Be careful, though. The blades be not just for show. They are sharp as ever."

"All right, Solaire clapped. "Let us begin your own training, young priestess!"

Rhea's voice quavered with worry. "But... I am unused to the rigors of this land. And-"

Thomas waved her worriness off. "This level's pretty easy, all things considered. You're going to grind at the Parish for a bit as training. And we can get some titanite on the side. Don't worry. The Super Astora Brothers aren't going to let anything happen to you. And barring that, we're undead, remember? We have a level of immortality that Mannimarco would envy, himself. And he achieved godhood! You'll be fine."

Rhea still was a touch uncertain, but said nothing. Solaire clapped again. "Then it's settled! Let us train under this most incandescent sun!"

Thomas stayed for a while to observe Rhea's training, but soon left, citing how the butterfly wouldn't off itself with it's own lasers. As they watched him leave, Rhea motioned over to Oscar. "This god of his. Ormagöden. Did'st thou ever hear of it?"

Oscar merely shook his head. "He never mentioned it, back when he saved me from the Asylum... Mayhaps we can ask him about this god, once he returns." Oscar had his own reasons for wanting to know. In additionto knowing the god that had sent a prophet, he wished to know more about Ormagöden's prophet, as well. "Come," he then responded. "Let us resume your training."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas was not happy. He was currently fighting the Moonlight Butterfly. Alone. Because Beatrice's summon sign wasn't there. _Mysteries upon mysteries in these damned woods._ As he avoided yet another blast from the butterfly, he kept a careful eye on it's movements, before charging another Soul Arrow. Just as with the others, the Butterfly gave no indication as to how much damage the arrow actually did. Pulling out his Talisman, he reapplied Magic Barrier, and resumed dodging, take potshots where he could. So far, the blasted thing remained out of reach of his Soul Whip, or else he would have attempted to grapple the fucker. "Yeah, yeah, I get it," Thomas grumbled, narrowly dodging a laser blast that barely grazed his robes, singing them with magical energy. "You're pretty. Pretty fucking ANNOYING!" Loosing another bolt, Thomas struck it square in the face, and the Butterfly retaliated by releasing a constant stream of moonlight energy from it's face, catching the sorcerer square in the chest.

Knocked on his back, Thomas griped as he swigged some estus as he got back up, observing the butterfly landed to dine on some the flowers on the bridge. "Now I've got you, you floating moonlight bastard." Drawing his Zweihander from his inventory, Thomas immediately two handed a jump attack, and started wailing. Before he could finish it off, however, it started charging it's AOE attack. "Recharge Stamina, recharge," he muttered, backing up as he pulled out his catalyst. The butterfly blasted, and started to float away. "Not today, motherfucker! Soul Whip!" He managed to snag a wing of the butterfly, and yanked. Drawing his claymore, he chopped at it, and the wing proved to be just as fragile as it looked, the entire chunk of wing simply sliced off. In spite of the Butterfly's vain attempts to stay afloat, it slowly drifted downward, blasting a part of the bridge with it's lasers as it did so. Thomas stood on the stone railing of the bridge, looking over the still-falling butterfly's body as it spiraled, and jumped, letting out his war cry. "For Earthrealm!" As he plunged downward, he soul whipped the horn of the moonlight butterfly, using it to control his descent so that he landed on the center of the body, where he plunged his claymore where he thought the heart would most likely be.

The Moonlight Butterfly shuddered, and Thomas pulled at the horn as he descended, snapping it off. _I've got BOSS WEAPONS!_ Thomas thought, immediately remembering Happy Souls. His next thought went to the rapidly approaching ground. "Oh, fuck me." _Wha-crunch!_ After a few minutes, Thomas got up, claymore in his left hand, Moonlight Butterfly Horn in his right, to observe that the Stone Guardians were already starting to get up, and those that were already up were marhing towards him. "... shit."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 _Clang!_ Rhea blocked and attack with one of the blades of her staff, and twisted, slicing into the unprotected belly of the Balder Knight with the other blade. "Thinkest I that I be getting the hang of this," she muttered as she took a Balder Shield from the fallen knight. Looking at the shield, she weighed it in her hand. "Tis heavy... and rather unwieldy. I cans't use this."

"No," Solaire responded, "Maybe not... But mayhaps Thomas can? The shield he currently has is already beaten and battered. This looks to be a major improvement, comparatively speaking." Taking the shield in his hands, he tested it's weight, admired it's balance. "Hmm. Tis solid craftsmanship indeed, it seems. Though I do prefer mine own shield. Perhaps he would..."

"I would."

Thomas' voice caught them by surprise. Oscar was the first to turn to the prophet of Ormagöden, but what he saw made him reel back. "Oh my," Rhea responded.

His robes were pockmarked with burns in various spots, with knicks and cuts opening up other parts of his robes. On his back was a strange spear, seemingly made from two pieces of metal, twisted together into a spiral. His claymore was sheathed, and the zweihander dragged behind him, a few sparks rising where the metal met the ground. His shield was in tatters, and glowed yellow from the aura given off by the talisman he held in the same hand. His face was set and grim, as though he had seen at least twenty battles while he was away. His estus flask hung empty from his hip.

"Thomas, pray tell me thou art okay!" Rhea ran to him, talisman in hand as she cast Great Heal over him. Some of the vigor and color returned to his face, and he forced a smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm alive, aren't I? Wait. Don't answer that." He smiled, tottering off to the bonfire as his companions followed him. When Oscar asked why Thomas didn't just use the bonfire before meeting them, he gave another of his weak smiles. "Simple. I didn't feel like resurrecting all the undead soldiers around you. So how much Titanite do you have?"

Rhea meekly pulled out a bag, shards jingling inside. "I do hope that these will suffice..."

Thomas looked inside and crowed. "Suffice! We have enough hear to max out everyone's gear right here, right now!" He stopped for a moment. "Well, okay. only so far on armor. and Oscar's shield needs a rare kind of purified titanite called twinkling titanite. And this spear needs an even more rare form called demon titanite. But don't worry, girl. We got more than enough for what we're doing here. Let's see Andre." With that, the sorcerer tapped the bonfire's coiled sword, instantly feeling revitalized, and proceeded to go downstairs.

"Yo! Hammertime by An-Dre! I got something for you!" The smith perked up as Thomas called on him, and his eyes were drawn to a strange white light in Thomas' hand. It was the size of an orange, and Andre instantly recognized it. "I'd like to give this to you."

"Well, I'll be..." Andre set his hammer down, and took a look at the ember. "I've seen one of these before. It's the ember of a divine blacksmith. Thou wishest give this to me?"

Thomas nodded. "I can't make much use out of it, myself, but you can. By the way, we'll be making use of that ember soon. We just need the materials. And a... Eh. I forget the name. The... gods damn it. You use it to upgrade weapons at bonfires... The Weapons Smithbox! I'd like to buy that." Dishing out the souls, he took the smithbox, and set about getting everyone's gear upgraded. That slogged on for about thirty minutes, but once it was done, they could get back to their adventures. Thomas thanked Andre once again, and they were on their way. "Next stop, the Capra..." The sorcerer's words stuttered, and then failed, as he noticed a dark blue spirit rising from the ground. "...demon..."

 _Invaded by Spirit of Vengeance Oswald the Punisher_

"Excuse me, what?!" Thomas couldn't believe what he was reading, what he was _seeing_. Oswald of Carim, cleric of Velka, strode towards the group. "Guys... We have so many problems right now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: so that happened. Yes, the miracle Thomas invented earlier has put his name in as the biggest of sinners. Shit's going to start to get interesting really soon, especially in the anal rodeo...

Don't forget to rate and review, along with any spell suggestions you want to submit! Also, I suppose I can spoil this much. Don't bother making spell suggestions that Thomas can get in "Light" Anor Londo. It's going to be Spoopy Londo the moment he gets there. And instead of regular giants, it will be swarming with Darkmoon Blades who want to keep the heretic from getting ahold of the Lordvessel.


	12. When the Dung Pie hits the Fan

12

As they watched, Oswald knelt in prayer, and was enveloped in a purplish light. Thomas paid no mind to the miracle. He recognized it already. His thoughts were embroiled more as to why Oswald was here, and as an invading blue spirit, at that. _The Pardoner never leaves his post! And he's never invaded! Why is he here?_ Oswald charged forward, and Thomas' companions reacted faster than Thomas himself did. Oscar fired his bow, Solaire threw a lightning bolt, and Rhea launched Emit Force. Oswald avoided all but the last, and was knocked backwards by the force of her miracle. Thomas rushed forward, drawing his claymore and stabbing it into the Pardoner's sword arm, impaling it to the ground. Standing on Oswald's talisman hand, he then addressed the bishop of Velka. "Ozzy. Ozz-Man. Oswald. I'm curious. Humor me, if you will..." Oscar moved closer, arrow aimed at Oswald's head as Thomas asked "what in the ever loving FUCK did I do?!" Oswald's face was hard to read, partially due to his mask, but also owing to his phantom status. His sword hand, still pinned at the arm by Thomas' claymore, curled into the universally recognized gesture that one could go procreate with themselves. "Can't speak as a phantom, eh?" Thomas grumbled. "Fine. Rhea, if I could borrow your battlestaff?"

Rhea came forward, talisman in her other hand. Taking the staff, Thomas pointed one end of the weapon to Oswald's throat. "Have a nice death. We'll be seeing you soon with questions. I'd appreciate if you allowed us to ask them. I'd appreciate it further if you answered them." Then, without flourish, Thomas thrust, slaying the phantom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Thomas stood at the rooftop of the Parish, where he and the Knights of Astora fought the gargoyles. His companions were in an impromptu diamond formation behind him. Oscar was on the left, spear and shield ready. Solaire had his signature straight sword in one hand, and his talisman in the other. Rhea had her twinblade staff on her back, while she prioritized holding her own talisman. Thomas, contrarily, was unarmed. His claymore was sheathed on his back, his balder shield was, likewise, placed on his back. Catalyst and talisman were both in their belt, accessible, but not out of reach. Near the center of the roof, Oswald stood. His hand was on his weapon, but not drawn. His thumb was hooked under his belt, next to his talisman, but also remained in place. "Well, heretic. Ask your questions. I shall allow you to die with your curiousity sated. That shall be the extent of my mercy."

 _All right. Keep it short, keep it simple._ "First question, how long have you worked for Gwyndolin?"

Oswald simply laughed. "I do not. He gets his authority from the goddess Velka, whom I serve. You have been judged as having unpardonable sin. Therefore I cannot let you live. Any more questions?"

Thomas thought for a brief second, taking it in. "What do you mean by unpardonable sin? I have done nothing wrong. What did I do that was so vile, Oswald of Carim felt the need to slay me, personally?"

"Your attempt at flattery will not spare you," Oswald's voice held a hard edge. "And you know your sin full well. You have the power of the enemies of the Lords. A fragment, maybe, but the Lords are not interested in seeing you obtain more. Therefore, you are to be eliminated."

"Wait a sec," Thomas asked. "You're telling me that I pissed off the gods because of a miracle I accidentally invented? Can't I just not use Stone Flesh anymore and we can call it good?"

"This much Sin cannot be cleansed. Therefore, you must be purged, lest you taint the world." At this, Oswald drew his sword, and Thomas did the same preparatorily. "I tire of your questions, False Prophet. You shall fall here and now."

"No."

Rhea's voice was different from how it usually sounded. Normally it held a small quavering of self-doubt, and a lack of confidence. But now, her voice was confident. And angry. "Thou shalt not touch him." She strode forward, standing in front of Thomas with her Twinblade Staff in hand.

"Oho," Oswald chuckled. "Dost thou abandon the gods so easily?"

"Only as readily as they abandoned me. As they have abandoned Thorolund. If Thomas a false prophet be, I will take his false prophecies upon any day, for they have done me no wrong." Thomas found himself touched by her speech, and noticed that Oscar and Solaire had moved up. The diamond formation had effectively reversed, with Thomas at the rear, and Rhea at the front.

"If I may," Oscar ventured, "I have a question of my own."

Oswald was exasperated. "What is it this time, you heathen?"

Oscar's voice practically dripped venom. "Have you made peace with Velka? Because on this night you shall go to meet her."

"Holy shit," Thomas muttered. "That's a classy line."

"Enough!" Oswald shouted. "Thou shalt perish here and now!" he knelt to cast Karmic Justice, but was quickly stopped by a combination of Oscar's bow and Oswald's lack of poise. Growling in annoyance. Oswald dropped into a low crouch to duck another arrow, and charged.

Needless to say, charging alone against two highly skilled knights and a knowledgeable sorcerer, not to mention a pissed cleric, was the last mistake that Velka's pardoner would make. Solaire blocked his strike, sending Oswald off balance as Oscar struck a couple times with his spear. Then Rhea cut him down in a flurry of fury.

"Thou shalt regret this..." Oswald coughed, red blood covering his otherwise immaculate black coat. "Thou shalt fear... thine indelible wrongdoings."

Rhea knelt next to Oswald, taking his rapier. "I shalt regret naught. _You_ brought this upon yourself, Paroner." and with that, she drove his weapon into his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 _Invaded by Spirit of Vengeance 1_Wng_Angeal_

 _Invaded by Forest Hunter The Black Bow_

"Okay seriously what the serious fuck is going on!" Thomas was practically shaking, shield out as he looked around. "Back to back, guys, back to back!" They crowded to each other, keeping backs towards one another as Thomas spied what he suspected was 1_Wng_Angeal. Black Leather Leggings and Gloves, Thief Mask, and Pardoner Robes. An eastern sword, not immediately identifiable which one, was in their hand, and a Darkmoon Talisman was in the other, applying Darkmoon Blade to it. Great. A knockoff Sephiroth. "Oscar! Your bow!" The warrior switched to it, and immediately began firing. The Darkmoon Blade's flip dodges quickly told them how effective _that_ strategy would be. "Save your arrows. We'll-"

As Thomas was speaking, a hail of arrows flew over his shoulder, narrowly missing his ear. They landed all around the Blade of the Darkmoon, and then exploded, eliciting a cry from both Rhea and Thomas.

 _Spirit of Vengeance 1_Wng_Angeal has been vanquished._

"Oscar, did you..."

"No, prophet." Turning, Thomas saw a blue phantom standing at the doorway to the Parish, bow drawn. Four seperate arrows were fitted to the string, but none of them were pointed at Thomas, Oscar, Rhea, or Solaire. The bow was long and black, so large that the bow was held almost vertically. Atop the woman's head was a signature hat.

"Jesus Christ, I never thought I'd be this glad to see you, Pharis." Thomas relaxed just a bit, then immediately tensed as Pharis fired her arrows, all at once. Each one found a mark in a different blue phantom that was creeping over with rings of fog equipped. The Sorcerer's jaw dropped. He read that Pharis was a legendary archer of great renown, but to see her in action for himself... _Skill like that was never even_ hinted _at in game. FromSoft, you really fucked up in doing this woman justice._ Walking forward, Thomas lowered his claymore, a gesture of non-hostility. "Thank the gods you showed up, Pharis. These Dorkmoons showed up out of nowhere. And when I saw your invasion warning, I was worried that the Forest Hunters were after me as well and-"

Pharis punched him in the jaw. Her lips then started to move. A lot. And while, as a phantom, she was unable to talk, her general body language made it clear that she was beyond pissed at something Thomas did. "Okay Pharis, I don't know if you can hear yourself, but I can't hear you. Phantoms can't talk. Try and use your body language." Pharis punched him again. "Christ! Okay, I get it, you're mad at me. If that's all you have to say..." At this, Pharis launched into more exasperbated gestures, when Oscar perked up.

"Hang on. I recognize some of these. We were taught these in the Ascoran military to be able to communicate silently, when need be. How did you come across them, Archer?" Pharis responded by slashing the air with her hand. "Not important. All right, then tell us what is important." Pharis launched into a series of gestures, then, to which Oscar attempted to translate.

"All right, let's see. 'Thomas is a', you know what, I'm not going to translate that. Get to the point, please." Pharis rolled her eyes, and then complied. "She says we need to 'Get back on task, time is of the essence, hurry up, get moving', HEY!" Oscar stumbled backwards as Pharis drew and fired once, twice, three times, the arrrows landing into the skull of a Blade of Darkmoon. "All right, we get it. Get moving. Ring bells. You'll contact us later?" Pharis nodded, and gave another signal. "'Personally'. Joy."

Thomas had heard enough. " all right, fuck grinding for green titanite shards, apparently. We have to get side tracked by Gwyndolin's fanboys." He barely dodged another punch in the face. "All right, all right! Keep your trousers on. We're going!" Without a word, Thomas turned and started jogging, Rhea and the Astoran knights following suit. An arrow exploded in front of Thomas, and he turned, exasperated. "What now?!" Pharis raised a fist in salute, but she had her pinky and index fingers extended as she did so. The gesture of "rock on" from Thomas' world. "I'll take that as a good luck," Thomas said, before he started running again.

They stopped at the Sunlight Altar bonfire, resting up and replenishing Estus and spells before crossing the bridge. Thomas opened the door, and they descended into the lower undead burg. At Thomas' direction, they approached a door, and Thomas started fiddling with his keys before fitting it in, and opening the door. Inside was a pale sorcerer with brown hair, wearing black Sorcerer robes. "Hello, Griggs," smiled Thomas.

"Hello," Griggs responded amicably. "I'm afraid that I don't know you? I don't mean to be ungrateful. It's just..."

Thomas kept his grin up. "I'm a prophet of the Eternal Fire Beast, Ormagöden. It was his sight that let me know you were trapped here, and how to release you. I also know you offer to train me in sorcery at Firelink, but frankly, we have no time. Teach me here."

Griggs looked at him blankly. "what? But I've only just been released. And my work..."

Thomas cut in. "I am 75% sure that there is an angry goddess stomping about the Burg right now. You want to teach me the spells, and then get to Firelink as quickly as possible. It's the safest place in Lordran." _I hope._ At the mention of an "angry goddess", Griggs paled further than usual.

"On second thought... What do you want to know?" Thomas bought Magic Weapon, Magic Shield, Fall Control, Aural Decoy, and Homing Soulmass, before letting Griggs go, who muttered, casting a couple spells, and vanishing, noiselessly running away.

"Right," Thomas clapped. "That done, we need to get to the Depths as quickly as possible. It is time for a good old fashioned speedrun."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The thieves of the Burg posed absolutely no challenge to the party, though Thomas did appreciate the loot of getting a Hollow Thief Hood. He liked the air of mystery that surrounded a person wearing them. And besides, he may need the anonymity soon, with Gwyndolin being as up his ass as he was. _And I have no time to go back for the rusted iron ring, or even to buy some moss... You know what, fuck it. I'm buying the fucking moss, and then getting the doll and the ring.I'll just need to come back for the slab after I kill Gwyndolin. It's worth the risk._ That decided, Thomas stopped everyone at the fog wall to the Capra Demon. "Actually..." He thought for a moment. "Oscar. You remember the Asylum?"

Oscar looked confused at him, and then nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"Simple. I need you to fetch some things for me. They'll be essential to the journey ahead." Thomas detailed the plans, and where Oscar had to go. "Remember, Time is of the essence. Gwyndolin's hunting me, so you should probably be fine on your own. We'll wait for you at the Bonfire in the Depths. You'll see it."

Solaire stepped forward. "I would like to go with him."

"Sure," Thomas accepted. "Buddy system. Me and Rhea will clear the path for you. By the way, on your way up the stairs, buy some moss from the merchant. The purple moss and the purple moss with the blossoms. Reds are fucking useless, don't bother."

"Right," Oscar nodded. "Let us go, Brother."

"Praise the Sun!"


	13. Divergence in the Depths

AN: Forgive the delay. My laptop had all sorts of technical errors going on. I'm lucky to have managed to salvaged what I could, but I'm pretty sure this chapter suffered because of it.

13  
Divergence in the Depths

The cleric watched as Thomas saw off the knights of Astora, and together, the two watched as they headed for the shortcut to Firelink Shrine. "Wilt they be all right, Prophet?"

Thomas frowned slightly. "I think I forgot to mention something... Ah well. It'll come to me eventually. For now we have a demon of our own to face."

Rhea gripped her Twinblade Staff tightly. "A demon! Here? What is such an abomination doing so far up from the bowels of the earth?"

Thomas sighed. "Rhea, remind me to lecture you about how demons are not mindless, evil monsters. Usually. This one's gone mad thogh, and I feel no shame in attempting to slay it. But wait a couple moments before you enter the fog. I want to make things a little easier." Thomas pulled out his shield, and then entered the boss fog for the Capra Demon.

The demon roared, which was a strange yell between a man's scream and a goat's bleat, and then charged forward. The dogs didn't waste time, and instead directly charged. Thomas thrust his blade, stabbing a dog. The claymore had been well reinforced, and so easily killed it in the single strike. He then whirled around, blocking the second dog's strike. He prepared to swing...

only to find his sword stuck in the first mongrel. "Oh, fuck." He rolled to the side, abandoning his sword while he drew his catalyst and narrowly dodged one of the Capra Demon's great machete swings. Backpedaling to the stairs , Thomas kept his shield up while charging his catalyst. He blocked a biting attack of the dog and, when it tried to bite again, he caught it's jaws with his catalyst. "Euthanized." He fired the catalyst, and the dog's head exploded from the point blank shot. _gods, I feel like such a badass._ A thought occured to the sorcerer. _I just jinxed myself, didn't I?_

WHUMP!

A great machete slammed on top of him, driving him to the ground. The pain. The excruiating pain. Thomas couldn't get up immediately, so he stayed down. The Capra Demon looked down at him, knowing he was finished, and raised it's blades for the kill when -plock-

A stone bounced off of it's skull helm. The Capra Demon gave a quizzical bleat, and then turned toward the source of the thrown projectile, and received an Emit Force miracle head on. Thomas got up, not really looking a gift horse in the mouth, even if it came in the form of Rhea Ex Machina, and dashed for the first dog, needing to get to his sword. Reaching the dog, he pushed the undead canine off the blade as the Capra demon ran forward. Rolling to the side, Thomas cut at it's leg, hamstringing the Capra Demon, which fell forward. Rhea stabbed her spearblade in the base of it's neck, finishing it off. As he watched, the Capra Demon dissolved into souls, dropping a key. "Where," Rhea began, "Was the demon keeping that?"

Thomas though about it for a brief second, and then shuddered. "Let's not open that train of discussion, Rhea." He took a quick swig of estus, and then embraced the cleric of Thorolund. "Also, I appreciate you stepping in like that. My goose would have been carved if you hadn't."

Rhea gave a slight blush, thankful to be of use. "twas nothing, milord. Thou would'st have done the same."

Of that, Thomas had no doubt. If she had been under the knife, or Oscar, Solaire, he wouldn't hesitate. He patted her shoulder thankfully. "Come on, we should keep moving. With this key, the Depths are now open to us. Let's get there before the Dark Sun comes down upon us like Majora's moon."

"What dost thou-?"

"Never mind," Thomas interrupted, waving Rhea along. "We have to go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Gods, that woman creeped me out."

So spoke Oscar as he and Solaire passed through an iron gate. Upon closer inspection, Oscar recognized this gate. "Tis as he said..." Sure enough, this was the same gate Thomas and he passed by on their way to the burg. "That way leads to the Shrine. We should consider resting there before making the journey to the Asylum."

Solaire grunted, cheery as ever. "You know, I've been thinking about our friend, brother. Remember Father's court? There was a Seer there, as well." Oscar nodded, remembering. The foolish old bat of a woman claimed the Undead Curse would end in a mere few days. "I'm just saying... Thomas is different from that old soothsayer. His predictions are correct, for one."

At this, Oscar couldn't help himself, and he started laughing at the fact. "Aye. And he's much less cryptic about it, as well. He sees the future, my brother. Not garbled hints at what could be. He has seen our paths as clearly as I see that ugly rat ahead." The rat in question continued nibbling on the corpse at the end of the waterway as Oscar drew his bow. One arrow, and the rat was dead. The knight smiled as he silently thanked Thomas for reinforcing it. He always preferred the bow to his family sword and shield. To rain down death upon an enemy before they even reached him had a certain appeal. His brother, by contrast, adored swordplay, and took great pride in his skill at arms. Together, there was little they could not face.

"We always did make a good team, didn't we, Oscar?" The Sunlight Warrior clearly had been having the same thoughts as he. "Anyways," he continued. As he did, he shifted to point, to take on the hollows just outside the aquaduct. "My point was this; he does not strike me like any other prophet I have ever met." He bashed his shield into the face of the Hollow atop the stairs, and then stabbed his blade into it's gut.

Oscar casually fired his arrows into the firebomb chucking hollow before it could start it's flame-throwing. "And?"

A parry, and then Solaire slit the axe throwing hollow's throat before kicking it to the ground. "It's the way he talks about our futures. Have you ever heard someone have so much certainty about what will be?"

"Solaire... The future is not set in stone. Thomas said so himself." Oscar's voice held a creeping unease as he shot the armored hollow. The path to the Shrine was now clear.

"And yet, what if it is? Thomas' words hold so much certainty, it's like the future IS set in stone. He knew Petrus would betray Rhea. He knew, without even meeting her, the name of the Firekeeper, Anastacia, and that her tongue was cut out. He knew the secret mission of the Way of the White. He knows the beast we go to slay bears an entire slab of titanite! And somehow, he even knows that the cell he was in, which was empty when he left, wouldst now bearest a doll which can take us to a hidden realm! A prophet would not have so many details. How does Thomas know it without it being set in stone?"

"Solaire," Oscar turned to his brother, resting a hand on it's shoulder. "Are you worried you won't find your sun?"

The knight took a breath and, when he released, it was shaky. Nervous. Even scared. "Yes."

Oscar took off his helmet, and smiled at his brother. "Trust in Thomas. You will find your sun, even if you were destined not to. My quest was to ring the Bells. And we are well on our way to do so, even though I was destined to die in the Asylum." Solaire looked surprised at him. "Aye, I was supposed to die there. But Thomas has helped me to defy fate itself. If the future is set in stone, let me stand before you as proof that the stone can be broken."

"The stone can be broken," Solaire echoed. The more he thought on it, the calmer he felt. _The stone can be broken._ The knight repeated the phrase in his head, and the darkness in his mind was banished. "Come, my brother. We have a demon to slay, a doll to retrieve, and Knights to put to rest."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Th-Thank you," Laurentius stammered. He picked himself up from the barrel's remains, dusting himself off as he did so. "I would have-"

"Been her supper. Yeah. Let's not enter that realm of thought." Thomas smiled warmly at the pyromancer. He was Thomas' first favorite npc (after Solaire, of course). His pyromancies were absolutely bombass, no pun intended. And he had a heart of gold, as well. "Now, I know you want to go back to Firelink Shrine to rest up, but I have an alternative proposal."

The pyromancer of the Great Swamp looked at him curiously. "How did you know...?"

"I'm a prophet of Ormagöden, the Eternal Fire Beast. He revealed to me many things about this land, you included. I also know you seek the Witch of Izalith," at this Laurentius' mouth dropped open.

"I told nobody of my quest. Not even my teacher. How did you..."

"Again, Prophet. I will lead you to find the witch, as well as teach you how to see her. But we can't do that here. Or at the Shrine. I know a bonfire that we can rest at. You can teach me Pyromancy, and I will bring you to Quelana of Izalith."

Laurentius looked absolutely pleased with the prospect. "Very well, friend. Please, let's shake on it." He offered his hand. Thomas suspected what he was trying to do, and decided that it was worth it, and shook.

Laurentius's hand lit on fire, engulfing Thomas' own. The sorcerer expected painfully high heat to overwhelm him, but instead felt a warmth, not from the fire covering his hand, but in his heart. "There you are," Laurentius said kindly. "A Flame from the Great Swamp. Now you are a fully fledged pyromancer." Thomas beamed in response.

"Come, friend. Let's get you to the bonfire. Rhea's scouting, ahead."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They found Rhea at the passageway to the bonfire. The one with like fifty slimes covering the ceiling. "Prophet," she exlaimed nervously. "I had to stop. These fiends wouldst devour me if I came'st too close. Forgivest me for my failings."

Thomas waved it aside. "Nonsense. These guys pose a challenge to many new people. Thankfully, you have me and Laurentius for this. Stand back." At this, Thomas pulled out his catalyst.

"Excuse me, milady," Laurentius stammered mildly as he prepared a ball of fire in his hand.

 _Gods,_ Thomas thought. _Sorcery can never hold a candle to how awesome pyromancy looks._ Charging his bolt, Thomas fired, knocking a slime to the ground, which Laurentius then fried. Repeating this process, the pair kept going, and eventually reached the door. Thomas tried to unlock it, but failed. "Wierd. Master Key worked on it for me in my games..." Then he had an idea. "Hey, Laurentius. Think you can burn this door down?"

"Not a problem at all," Laurentius responded, a ball of fire already filling his hand. Chucking the ball of flame at the wood, the door easily caught flame. "And now, we wait for the flame to do it's work. In the meantime, I could take this moment to teach you some of my spells."

Thomas smiled amicably. "I'd like that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"YAH!" Solaire shoved his blade into the chest of the Black Knight, killing it. Kicking it off, he watched as it dissolved into Souls. "That was quite the entertaining fight," Solaire breathed, and stood up straight. "Thomas said it would be this way, right?"

Oscar nodded, and entered the cell. "This was Thomas' cell. I remember that distinctly. It's strange that this body is here. There wasn't one before, apart from Thomas, and the one I dropped for him..." Solaire merely shrugged as Oscar searched the body. Sure enough, the body bore a strange doll. It was a wooden little thing, in a peculiarly styled dress. Any color had long since been lost to the ravages of time, and the entire thing held a dullish tone. Thomas had indicated that he knew what it was for, but he didn't go into detail at the time. He'd have to ask him, later. "Brother?"

"Yes, Oscar?" Solaire perked up, picking up a shield from the black knight.

"I think we should go to the bonfire before taking on the demon. Rest up a bit."

Solaire breathed a sigh of relief. "Praise the sun. That's a brilliant idea."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laurentius, with his boots being thicker than either Thomas' or Rhea's footwear, was the one to kick the burning door down. After they had rested at the bonfire, the same Pyromancer decided to address his saviors. "Well. I believe that you know all about me. But I don't really know you, friends. Care to enlighten me?"

Thomas smiled back at him. "Well, my name is Thomas, Prophet of Ormagöden. I'll admit that I don't know why he sent me to Lordran, but he gifted me with an incredible gift of Forsight concerning the futures of many people I would meet in my travels. Most of them are... less than pleasant, and so I have used my gifts to change them. And my friend here is Rhea, a cleric of Thorolund." Rhea meekly waved at Laurentius. "We are on a quest to ring the bells of Awakening. Quelana of Izalith happens to be on the way. But as things are, you won't be able to see her."

Laurentius jumped up. "Please, tell me what you mean. Why can't I see her?"

Thomas waved him down. "Quite simple, really. Your flame isn't stronk enough. But I have an idea." Thomas gave a brief pause, and then continued. "Do you need another pyromancer in order to strengthen your own flame?"

"Yes," Laurentius replied. "One cannot do so on their own."

"Perfect. Then we strengthen each other's flame in a sort of feedback loop."

At this, the exile of the swamp looked at Thomas. "That's... Actually not a bad idea. Get over here, let's try it." Thomas moved closer, and they clasped the hands that bore the pyromancy gloves, as though they were about to arm wrestle. The flames increased, soon engulfing their entire arms, but still they held.

 _Come on..._ Thomas thought. _Come on... Grow stronger... Grow stronger..._

And it was. It felt like the flame grew stronger, indeed. As it grew, it enveloped more than just their arms. It covered their bodies, and started to spread outward. "Shit, RHEA, GET BACK!" Thomas shouted last second, just before he and Laurentius exploded, flames engulfing the entire room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Stray Demon plunged it's spear into the ground, and a ball of energy exploded outward, knocking the two knights of Astora back. Expertly rolling backwards with the blow, they came up kneeling, shields raised to catch any further attacks, before charging for a final attack. Solaire, on Oscar's right, went around to the left side of the demon as he ran around it's right. Rolling, the pair ducked underneath a slash, and came up to slice their blades into it's sides, finally slaying it. The beast fell to the ground, and perished, dissolving into souls as it did.

Moving forward, Solaire sheathed his weapons, and hefted the slab of titanite. "Do you have any ideas where that foul creature was keeping this? I didn't see any pockets on it."

Understanding flooded Oscar as he remembered when he asked this same question about a key once. "Brother, don't ask questions to that which you don't want the answer to," he responded simply. "Let us go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN BLEEEEEGGGHHHHHH I don't like this chapter for whatever reason. I don't feel like it's as great as it can be, but IDK how to make it better. Next up, Solaire and Oscar return, and we go slay some pussy. After that, maybe I'll do Blighttown in the same chapter. I definitely have some interesting plans for that place.


	14. MERELY DELAYABLE!

AN: Frankly, I have no good excuses for how abso-fucking-lutely late this is other than

1\. Scholar of the First Sin. I've started getting into it.

2\. Bayonetta, as well.

3\. Terrabyte hard drive installation means I needed to reaquire a LOT of shit, so I've been focusing on that. Those mods for Skyrim won't download themselves.

4\. And I've been lacking muse for writing in the depths. I find that they just suck to write in. So have a somewhat subpar, rather late chapter. Sorry for lack of quality, as well as tardiness. I have some ideas to implement very soon, but I have to slog through this, first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

14

MERELY DELAYABLE!

FWOOM!

A wave of flame exploded from Thomas and Laurentius, and washed over them, and Rhea, harmlessly. _Thank the gods,_ Thomas thought to himself. He couldn't bear the thought of her being hurt on his account. That being said, their flames did, in fact, look stronger, which was indicitave of success. "Right then," Thomas said. "We're short on time, so we need to push on. Oscar and Solaire are smart, and damn near unstoppable as a team. They'll catch up to us when we ring the bell. Especially at the swamp when they... Fuck..." Thomas shook his head. "I forgot to tell them to get the rusted iron ring." Thomas managed a hollow laugh. "All right, then. How about we quickly loot the place, and then pay a visit to old Kirk. You guys know Kirk, right?" Thomas was answered with silence, which he took as a yes.

"Thou..." Rhea was the first to speak, but her voice was quiet, and had a slight quaver to it. "I... I only knoweth of one by the name of Kirk."

"A right bastard, he is, if he be who I think he is," Laurentius agreed.

"You're correct," Thomas said. "I speak of the one, the only, Knight of Thorns. He's actually not that bad."

"I would hope not," a fourth voice commented, his voice deep, and smooth as spider silk. "I'd hate to be as bad as my reputation makes me out to be."

Thomas turned slowly, and saw him. A man. Not a phantom. Wearing dark, spiked armor, with a spiked shield on his back, and twin spiked swords in his hands. Kirk had come. "Well," Thomas muttered. "That's convenient."

"Yes, I imagine it is," the Knight of Thorns responded simply, before sheathing his blades. "You don't have much time. The Darkmoon rises behind you, seeking to eclipse you in his gaze."

"Okay, who all knows about what happened?!" Thomas then demanded, a little miffed that the entire world seemed to know that Gwyndolin essentially declared war on him.

"Only those who need to, Thomas, I assure-"

"And how the fuck do you know my name?"

The former Darkwraith merely smiled, and reached into his pocket. "There are many things you know that which you should not, prophet." He pulled out a spider shield, the ring of the evil eye, as well as the heavy crossbow and some bolts. "And yet, there are some things you must not know until the appointed time. Some secrets shall remain such a little longer."

"The appointed time, eh?" Thomas took on a wry smile. "Time is a convoluted ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff. So why not dispense with the secrets now?"

"Quelaag's orders," Kirk responded simply. "Also, I saved you some trouble, I believe. I was here getting humanity, and I thought, what would make our local prophet happier, than to have some of these?" Kirk then dipped his hand in his pocket again, and started filling the inside of the shield with green rocks.

Thomas' eyes widened. "Green titanite shards. How the fuck did you know we could use green titanite shards?"

Kirk tapped the side of his head, giving Thomas a sly look. "Spoilers."

"Your name is Kirk, Knight of Thorns. Not River Song, Wife of the Doctor. Enough with the riddles."

Laurentius' palm exploded into fire. "Are you going to answer the Prophet's questions?" Rhea, likewise, had her battlestaff in hand. When Kirk shook his head, Laurentius looked at him like he was mad. "Then why have you come, Darkwraith?"

"I am a Darkwraith no longer," Kirk said. "In fact, I have spent a year already fighting against them."

Thomas blinked. "Okay, I insist on this secret. You are fighting the Darkwraiths now? I thought you invaded people to steal their humanity for the Fair Lady."

"You thought correctly," Kirk said, smiling as he did. "Before I continue, I'd like your friends to put their toys down. I'd like them to know we're all allies here."

Thomas looked at Laurentius and Rhea. "Do... You mind?" Laurentius' fire dimmed slightly, but was still at the ready, and while Rhea had lowered her staff, her grip upon it remained tight. "I suppose that's a "we kind of do, but you're the boss," answer."

"It's all right," Kirk said. "I have a bit of a nasty reputation. But now that I think of it, we don't have time to play the Backstory game. Let's just hold that I have absolutely no reason to betray you, Thomas, and that your friends are my friends, by proxy. Feel free to take the loot. I _did_ get it for you, after all." With that, Kirk left, walking down the narrow hallway. "Quelaag insisted that I hold on killing the dragon. Something about preventing summons or invasions, I'm not sure which."

"About Quelaag... She's not going to try to kill me, is she?"

"No. She knows you come, and is prepared to welcome you."

"Because that's not odd at all," Thomas muttered. He now had no idea what was going on, or what was coming next. And if Thomas was being honest with himself, he liked that. The idea got his blood pumping. To not know what was coming. To face the unexpected. It excited him. _She knows I'm has to count for something. What currency, though?_ Thomas' thoughts were interrupted when they came to a fog wall. But... "Did we already pass the Channeler?"

"Yes," Kirk said smoothly. "I killed him a while back, never fear. Rhea shall be safe from the machinations of the paledrake as long as I... Well, I can't say draw breath, now can I?" Kirk chuckled, leading them to the gaping dragon bosswall. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Thomas said. "I'mma solo it. It's just one dragon, after all."

Rhea and Laurentius blinked at him, while Kirk laughed. "Truly you are he!" Kirk declared. "Quelaag told me I would know. And now I do. Enjoy."

Thomas smirked. "Just a little speedbump. Feel free to watch from above."

At this point, a description of the fight with the boss would be in order, but Thomas had a solid strategy that bore no real difficulty. In fact, for weight purposes, Thomas even put the Balder shield away, knowing mobility would serve him better than defense, and so had only his pyromancy flame, his claymore, and his catalyst equipped. He took off his hat, and tossed it to Laurentius. "Hold onto that for me, will you?" he asked simply, before removing his gloves for further weight loss, and entered the boss arena. _Bait the charge, smack the ass. Rinse and repeat,_ Thomas thought, strategy firm in mind. It wouldn't win him any speedruns, but Lords knew he gave no fucks about that.

He heard steps behind him as he walked forward a short distance, and the trio moved up to watch Thomas fight the dragon from the balcony. He put his catalyst to his blade, readying magic weapon as he did. He witnessed a small head, and was tempted to make a comment, but knew the true size of the beast, and so refrained. As the dragon arose, Thomas watched with a mixture of curiousity and boredom. On the one hand, he was curious as to how greed could create such a mutation of the dragon's body that a stomach could become a mouth. On the other hand, it was likely that the dragon had swallowed the key to Blighttown a while back, and so he had to kill it. _Knighthood's highest calling,_ Thomas thought, and quickly struck his catalyst against the flat of the blade. The weapon blazed blue, and Thomas readied his sword, taking the time to "Well, What Is It?" the dragon as it arose, finally lifting it's head and revealing it's underbelly. There was one factor Thomas wasn't accounting for; the smell.

"Yeugh," Thomas retched. "You smell like a whale ate a bunch of cabbage, and then died in your mouth. A year ago. Awful." Thomas did a hand wave motion with his sword hand, taking care not to cut himself with the blade, when he noticed the weapon was no longer buffed. "The fuck? Was this some kind of quick magic weapon buff or something?" Thomas would have to look at this later. The last time he looked at his menus in a bossfight, he ended up dead facing Vordt in Dark Souls 3. "You know, the real fight here was keeping Solaire from dying recklessly whenever I decided to try summoning him here. You're cake. Not even cake. You're a peanut." The dragon roared, and slammed it's head down at Thomas. Thomas backed up real quick, and while the shockwave was pretty good, Thomas wasn't caught under the dragon. In fact it was more in front of it. He applied what he was calling Quick Magic Weapon onto his sword, and jabbed the dragon in it's dinky little head, before moving to the side as it unstuck it's "mouth," and began charging forward. Thomas stood to the side, and applied regular Magic Weapon as the beast charged, before making for it's tail. "Easiest dragon weapon ever, because I can't count the drake this time," Thomas said, rushing forward, and began hacking away with both hands. When the dragon raised it's head, he backpedaled, grabbing the warrior set as he did, and made sure to keep an eye on the dragon.

Soon enough, it slammed it's head down again, and Thomas moved to the side, firing a couple soul arrows. Because why not? When it charged, Thomas jogged to the side, and then to the tail, and began hacking again, giving a cry of success when the tail was finally severed. "One Dragon King Greataxe for the win!" Thomas shouted, giving an extra stab for good measure as the dragon lashed out towards him, almost getting him. Thomas jogged off, and rinsed and repeated until the Gaping Va... Dragon was dead. _Come on, Thomas. You're an adult. Allegedly._ Thomas picked up the key, and shook the bile off of it slightly, before taking a moment to equip the armor he picked up. _Still shit tier, but beats these robes, I'm sure,_ Thomas thought to himself, equipping the hard leather boots, gauntlets, and armor, but leaving the helm off. His hair never agreed with helmets, and the poise granted by the helm was worthless on it's own, so there wasn't any point to it, in his eyes.

The three of them were coming into the boss room, with varied reactions. Laurentius was awed that Thomas had taken down a dragon. Rhea seemed ecstatic. Meanwhile Kirk seemed... Unsurprised. He was clapping with a minor degree of slowness to indicate both respect for the feat, and the lack of shock at it. "Such a thing is quite within your abilities, of course. You've proven yourself," Kirk said. "Now, we must get to Quelaag. Time is short."

"You mentioned that," Thomas responded sardonically. "I take it we go to Blighttown now?"

"Correct," Kirk responded simply.

Laurentius clapped Thomas on the back. "A real dragon, in the flesh, and you took it down! By the gods, you're unstoppable!"

"Not quite," Thomas said. "Merely... delayable. Hey, that makes for a good battlecry. Merely delayable. I think I'll go with that."

(Repeated apologies for the delays. Three whole fucking months! Too damn long! Anyways, rate and review. Maybe recommend, if you feel like it. Anyways, I feel like if I expect to keep my audience, I should probably reveal a very minor thing. But I'll let you guys decide that. If a majority say "Gives us hints!" or something similar, I'll give a very minor hint at WTF is going on. If you'd prefer I keep my cards to my chest, as it were, feel free to say so. Next up, Blighttown, and the return of the Super Astora Brothers as well! Fair warning, Blighttown isn't going to look like it did in the game. Apart from that, no hints for now. Peace!) 


	15. More like Deathstrike, honestly

AN: Shade, worry not. Quelaag's more than spared in this fic (Spoiler alert)  
Mazz: Thank you! I feed off of reviews like a normal mortal does food  
Bear: Kirk is a bigger badass here than the game gives credit for, yes.  
coduss: Well, he can be stopped. Just not for long. Hence the battlecry.  
Guest: There are more deviations to come, but what caused them will be explained, soon enough. The only hint I'll give is "Don't Blink." If you get the reference, you get the hint.

15

Blighted Issues

"Ah, Blighttown," Thomas muttered, his nose taking in the air, and not liking it. "As delightful as I remember it."

"Um..." Laurentius butted in. "We just opened the doors."

"And yet I can still smell the place. The scent of disease, decay, old, molded wood."

"We're still working on rebuilding," Kirk supplied. "But you'll find a chest with most of the gear in it, as well as a few other tools besides, which you can make use of."

Thomas, by now, had gotten more used to Kirk throwing curveballs like this, and so had started taking them in stride. "Ah, yes. That's good to hear. How is the rebuilding process going, anyways?"

Kirk nodded. "Well enough. The Legion is overseeing rebuilding, with an emphasis on safety and expediency for visitors intending to go downwards, without disturbing the residents who want to live on their own. They prefer it that way."

"Of course," Thomas said simply, though his mind was whirling. As far as he knew, Farron hadn't been founded yet, so said Legion couldn't have been formed. And even so, the Wolf Knight's fanclub would be much too busy hunting down the Abyss to take on carpentry projects. "I forget. How long has the Legion been working on this?"

"About 250 years. Slightly older than I am."

Rhea blinked. "Kirk... Exactly how old art thou?"

"Just turned 235 yesterday, actually. Thankfully, it was as much a symbol that the time had come as anything."

"Happy birthday, knight," Laurentius said. "Belated though it be."

"Appreciated, Pyromancer. Speaking of, are we going, or are we going to stand here at the entrance all day?"

Thomas glanced back, to reconfirm that Domhall wasn't sitting at his little spot. "Forward it is," he said. "Let's visit the New Blighttown." And with that, they descended."

Meanwhile, at the Undead Asylum: "I have no idea why the crow isn't here by now," Oscar said. "Thomas assured us it would take us back."

"Even a prophet is wrong, sometimes," Solaire said, gazing into the sun. "But I think that we're going about it the wrong way. How did you leave the first time?"

"We merely came to the cliff, and a couple crows grabbed us."

"And how did we get here?"

"We curled up as eggs."

"And seeing as standing about hasn't done us any favors..." Solaire trailed off, and Oscar, slackjawed, smacked his helmeted forehead.

"Lords damn me. I am a fool," he said simply, before curling up, Solaire following suit.

"We all have our moments, little brother." At this, two crows came over, picked up, and flew off, with Solaire politely wondering how the birds hadn't been able to tell that they WEREN'T eggs. _Ah, well,_ he mused to himself. _I simply will have to ask Thomas, when the time comes._ After a short flight, both Solaire and Oscar were transported to Firelink Shrine, and began their descent. Little did they know, they were watched, six pair of red, glowing eyes lurking in the shadows...

"Well met!" a woman near the bonfire called out. "You're just in time." Warily, the knights of Astora approached, when Oscar recognized her.

"Pharis?" then knight asked, somewhat incredulous.

"The same. Surprised to see me? You're going to love what happens next." She looked at the bonfire's flame, before whispering to them conspiratorily. "The Knight. Lautrec. He intends to collect the Firekeeper's Soul. You arrived, just in time, to help me stop him."

Solaire frowned, under his helm. "But... Thomas warned him not to."

"And? What are the words of one man compared to the duty he feels he bears his goddess?"

Silence filled the area, and Oscar took it open himself to approach the crestfallen warrior. "So. This flame is threatened. How do you feel about that?"

The crestfallen warrior perked up. "I find that I do not like the idea. I do not like it at all." He stood, slowly, with all the grave force of one who put effort into what they do. "I am fond of this little flame, and the Keeper which provides. It would not be nice to lose it. There are so few comforts left in this world, and I feel I cannot stand by and let them slip." He drew a short blade, and his heater shield was at the ready. "Very well. Let's pay this disgraceful excuse for a knight a visit." So made up on their minds, the group descended, approaching Lautrec.

Though they were too late. Lautrec's blade was already within Anastacia, and he was taking her soul even as they watched. Above, the crackling of the Bonfire faded, and silenced entirely.

"No," Oscar said quietly, drawing his blade. "Thou beast!" Solaire's weapons were readied as well, and Pharis had her famed triple-shot ready, aimed directly at Lautrec.

"Beast?" Lautrec asked, his voice like silken oil. "Nay. I am quite aware of what I do. Humanity is a valued resource, is it not? And exceedingly rare. What use had she for it, hmm?"

"A life is not so easily tossed aside, Embraced Knight," Solaire said simply, his knuckles white upon his sword. "Explain unto me why we should not slay you, for your foul deed?"

Lautrec looked at them, and analyzed his chances. One paladin, a versatile knight, an archer, and a fighter. He was not without his own tricks, but a tactical retreat was in order. "Because," he said, a bone already being crushed in his hand. "I am no longer here."

Three arrows flew forth at blazing speed, but all sailed through Lautrec as though he wasnt there, as he shimmered and faded. Pharis moved towards the Firekeeper's corpse, and plucked a black orb, an eye in it's face. "Your prophet will appreciate this tool," she said simply, handing it to Oscar.

"What is this," the knight responded, peering into the black orb's eye. "What does it do?"

"Simply put," Pharis responded, "Lautrec has returned to his own world. When the prophet is in the same area as him in our world as he is in his, he may cross the gaps between worlds, to slay him, regaining the lost Firekeeper's soul."

"Blasted coward," The crestfallen knight said. "I will see him pay for this, if I have to sign up with the Blades of the Darkmoon in order to do it."

At this, Oscar gave a meek chuckle. "Funny you should bring them up. They currently hate us. Something about Thomas obtaining the ancient power of the dragons, or some such."

"He did what?!"

Just above, within the shrine, they heard a scream of terror, and Solaire shook his head. "What now?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas wasn't expecting salutes. That was for sure.

As he walked through Blighttown, he was at first wary, weapons ready. When two workers, both of them taller than he, and slightly wider, suddenly turned, he had admittedly jumped a little. Both of them pulled out greatswords, and had moved quickly, setting the on edge prophet almost off entire. Till he took a second look. They stood on opposite sides of the walkway, greatswords extended, crossed over their heads. "Um... Isn't that a bit unnecessary? I'm not THAT important."

"Mother would disagree," Kirk said. "She has long held you in high regard." At this, Thomas blinked. Mention of Kirk's lineage was never brought up. He served the Fair Lady, sure, but his reasonings were never known.

"And," Laurentius asked, "Just who is your mother?"

"Quelaag," the Knight of Thorns said simply. "Chaos Witch and standing ruler of Izalith, birthplace of Pyromancy. I'd be disappointed if you showed less than your utmost respe-HEY!" The Knight jostled his leg, his boot lightly pushing away the Pyromancer who had thrown himself at his feet in supplication. "I don't bear any of mother's talents, so don't expect me to be able to teach you anything."

"I... I see," Laurentius said, getting up in shame. "But surely, you know something."

"I seem to bear only one skill from the royal family," Kirk said. "My armor is renowned for it's thorns. They are an extension of me, birthed from a primal aspect of the Chaos within us all."

Meanwhile, Thomas had been mildly rocked by the revelation. Everything about Kirk's lore fell into place. One would do anything for family. Including risk the wrath of a primordial serpent to trick them out of a red eye orb, to fetch humanity for their ailing aunt's recovery. His service to the Fair Lady, his persistence in invading the player's world, invading three times where others would stop after failing once, why he sought a red eye orb in the first place. _Vaati would have a field day with that one sentence alone._ Out loud, he inquired as to the armor. "Then, you can make claws like Wolverine."

"I won't know who that is, Prophet, but I can make claws," he said simply, the fingers of his gauntlets forming thorns, and he gave a demonstrative swipe. "See?"

"I see," Thomas said, continuing walking. "Ah. Ladders. The Fetish of Miyazaki. Well, what's keeping us?" And with that, he descended, and decided to try sliding down.

"SPLINTERS! OH MY GODS I HAVE MADE SO MANY MISTAKES!"


	16. Wait, you met WHO!

16  
Wait, you met WHO!?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
AN  
Cipher, Time Reflects: Yes. Mistakes have been made.  
Freezee: Blighttown has pest control, no worries.  
Balloonicorn: Yeah he has a specific role to be revealed soon  
Guest: "This just got more retarded" Well if you were to provide an actually helpful critique maybe I could make it "less retarded." Is all I'm saying

"I suppose you think that was terribly funny," Thomas said, wincing as he was still extricating splinters from his palms. This comment was made in light of Rhea's lighthearted giggling at his expense.

"Forgivest me, Thomas," Rhea replied, still smiling. "It just... heartens me to see you such, in a way. It reminds me thou art, for all thine knowledge, and skill, human."

Laurentius chuckled openly as well. "It helped knock you down a peg. You acted as though slaying that dragon earlier was the simplest thing in the world."

"It IS the easiest dragon fight in the history of ever," Thomas grumbled. "Even Skyrim's dragons at least were able to do damage."

"What was that?" Rhea asked. "Where is Skyrim?"

"Another land entirely, far from here," Thomas responded. "The place is absolutely filled with dragons that are NOT inherently weak to lightning, and one of them happens to be the god of destruction, sent to eradicate the world so that it may be reborn."

"I... what? And the gods did not take care of this because..." Laurentius asked, crestfallen that such a beast was wandering around.

"Because I happened to be passing through the area and jolly well told him what for," Thomas said simply. "Then I followed him into the afterlife and kicked his ass there. And THEN I followed him to his house, kicked his ass a third time, and took a shit in his sink."

Kirk, meanwhile, had been quietly chuckling as he lead the way. So far none of the denizens of Blighttown had been attacking them. In fact, they seemed to show recognition to the party. _Probably just Kirk,_ Thomas reasoned to himself. _I forget he's basically Second Prince of Izalith, second only to Ceaseless Discharge._ Out loud, Thomas addressed the Knight of Thorns. "How is the Fair Lady, anyways?" It was clear things were going off-script at this point, and he wanted to make casual conversation.

"We recently have had a hefty donation of Humanities, thus her pain is relatively eased," Kirk said, to the relief, if not the curiousity, of the Prophet of Earthrealm. "Mother thinks that soon, Aunt Queelan should be able to start walking. All we really need is Rhea, at this point." At this, Rhea jumped slightly, and Thomas moved protectively in front of her, and Kirk chuckled some more. "Nothing like that, I assure you. She bears the Great Heal miracle, which mother assures me that, along with Sealer Yulva's Remedial Sorcery, that _you_ ," here Kirk pointed at Thomas. "Are able to use your little habit of creating spells to purge the remainder of the Blight Pus from her body. Use that little heretical skill of yours for good."

"Not that I'm opposed to the plan," Thomas said, holding his hands up, while filing away the information that Yulva was possibly alive, "but do I get no say in this? I mean, hitherto you and your mother are running on assumptions, that I'm a nice enough guy to want to help. For all you know, I could be in it only for myself."

Kirk gave a chuckle from underneath his spiked helm. "We've actually been watching you for some time. Shortly since you arrived, in fact, we've been keeping tabs on Undead who leave the Asylum. We had to make sure that it was truly an Undead who was willing to help, and not a False Prophet sent by Gwyndolin. He has long held Izalith in contempt for losing control of the Chaos Flame, as though Gwyn, blindly throwing himself onto the First Flame, was truly a better solution."

"I'd argue both plans rather backfired, honestly," Thomas said carefully. "The Chaos Flame engulfed Izalith, Gwyn's a glorified matchstick, and it's preserved nothing. Saved nothing. Also... You guys have been watching me?"

"You are correct, on both counts," Kirk responded. "Hubris was the end of both grandmother and Gwyn. Additionally, you make me repeat myself. We had to be assured you were the one."

"Great," Thomas muttered. "I actively go to avoid being the chosen one, and I end up getting it anyways. And I didn't even have to ring both of the fucking bells."

"Peace," Kirk responded. Some things will be made clear in-"

"Wait," Thomas interrupted, holding his arm out horizontally, with his forearm straight up in a ninety degree angle, his hand making a fist. There was a feeling...

Laurentius spoke up. "Ow. My head hurts."

They had arrived at the base of Blighttown, where Thomas noticed that some people were shooting down mosquitos with bows and arrows, when there was a sense of growing pressure in Thomas' brain. A familiar sense of pressure...

 _"Invaded by Maneater Mildred"_

"Oh, it's just Mildred," Thomas said, feeling relieved it wasn't GiantDad again, or a Darkmoon Blade, watching as a woman clad in little at all, wielding a massive cleaver, arose from the earth. "Hey, guys, let's just back up a bit." With that, the party followed Thomas, as he rushed back to a tunnel in the wall, where a bonfire, lit as well, sat casually. "Further back," Thomas said, showing them to a wide open area, where a chest in the back of the room sat, holding a dragon scale. "You know, I always thought this place looked like an arena," Thomas said. "You want me to fight her, or-"

"I'll handle her," Kirk said. "You merely stay back, and conserve your strength. I would prefer we see mother as soon as possible. Our time is short."

"Can you parry with that shield?" Thomas asked.

"No, but it's not necessary."

"Do we have the great-club?"

"Yes."

"Then," Thomas asked, holding out a hand, "May I make use of it?"

Kirk scowled, and then handed Thomas the club, a massive piece of wood the size of a tree, and the prophet lightly swayed under it's weight. "Holy hell! I forget how heavy it is." He anchored the weapon into the ground, Dark Souls 3 Perserverence style, and waited for Mildred to come, and to jump into the hole, at which point she charged him, cleaver raised high in the sky. _Time for combos,_ Thomas thought to himself, as he shouted. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY SWAMP!?" He pushed the handle forward in a timely manner, so that Maneater Mildred would accidentally gutpunch herself with the large weapon's handle, doubling her over it. Taking the weapon in two hands, Thomas swiftly raised the handle up, clipping her in the chin and knocking her backward as Thomas moved forward, bringing the weapon around and crashing it down upon her, crushing her under it's massive weight.

Panting, Thomas released the great club as Mildred dissolved underneath the heavy log. "You know, I could have took a bit more time, beat her with parries and the claymore," he said, doubled over from the effort as he attempted to catch his breath. "But I really wanted to use that warcry."

"We noticed," Laurentius deadpanned, while Kirk hefted the weapon, and retrieved Mildred's humanity for himself. Or rather, more appropriately, for the Fair Lady, his Aunt Queelan.

"All right," Rhea asked. "Art we prepared to move on, or-"

"Thomas!" Solaire called, jogging over to him with Pharis, Oscar, Griggs, and the Crestfallen Warrior in tow. "This man's name is Charles, by the way," Solaire said, introducing Cresty W. "And you're already familiar with Pharis."

At this, Thomas' eyes lit up. "Hey guys! Perfect timing! We were just about to move on through this swamp to go meet a Chaos Witch." Thomas then blinked. "You did remember to get the Rusted Iron Ring, right?"

"The what?" Solaire looked at him confusedly. "We've got the small doll, the Titanite slab, a nifty shield from one of the Black Knights, and a couple chunks of titanite, we remembered to buy some moss, but no rings."

Thomas sighed. "Ah well. Can't have everything, I suppose." He passed out some purple moss to everyone, instructing them to hold off on eatin it till they passed the swamp. "Well, tell me what you guys have been up to. It'll make for some fine filler conversation while we cross this muck. How's Anastacia?"

Oscar winced, and Pharis shook her head. "Little prophet... Lautrec managed to get to her."

Thomas' face fell, then hardened into a line of determination. "Then we get her soul back." He held out his hand. "Her body had a black eye orb on it. If you could pass it over, I'd appreciate it."

Oscar did so, and then spoke up. "And after Lautrec left us..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Earlier, Back at Firelink Shrine

The group quickly rushed up the stairs, after the source of the scream, bumping into Griggs who was running _down_ them. "A monster!" Griggs called. "There's some sort of... _creature_ in the shrine!" At this, multiple weapons were drawn, and they moved to the top level, examining every corner. Giving Astoran military signals, Oscar directed the team to split. Oscar and Pharis would be a team, with Solaire, Charles, and Griggs taking another. Together, and yet seperately, they scoured the shrine, but altogether came up with nothing. Upon regrouping, multiple questions were leveled to Griggs, asking for descriptions of the creature.

"It... It was tall, wrapped in many clothes. A hood obscured it's face, but the eyes... The horrible eyes... No person has that many eyes, glowing red with such malice! The moment I shouted, it scurried away like a most terrible insect... I cannot stay here. We are watched. Where can we go?"

"I know a place," Pharis said. "Below the base of Blighttown lies the domain of the Chaos Witches. They can provide a measure of safeguard against the Dark Sun. Gwyndolin's sight comes from the Darkmoon, and the vision fades the deeper underground we go."

"Didn't you say one of the bells were down there?" Oscar asked Charles, who nodded.

"I did, and while I once said I'd rather die again before setting foor there again... I find myself having a change of heart. I'd like to come with you, if I may."

"Welcome," Solaire said. "What is your name?"

"Charles."

"Can we walk and introduce ourselves at the same time?" Griggs asked, looking around nervously. "That thing is still out there."

"Follow me," Pharis said, taking the lead. "We'll need to take the elevator to New Londo, and then another to the Valley of Drakes. From there..."

 _"Invaded by Spirit of Vengeance OroboroTheNinja"_

"Ugh," Pharis said as a warrior with a falchion in elite astoran knight armor arose, and buffed his weapon with Darkmoon Blade. Pharis and Oscar knocked an arrow each, while Griggs prepared a spell, with Solaire and Charles drew their blades.

The Darkmoon Blade backstepped, as though unsure how to proceed, and then dropped a small carving. "I'm sorry." The Darkmoon Blade knelt, and Black Crystaled out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In another time, in another place, a man leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "I don't know what the fuck I just came in on but I'm not sure I want a part of it, because holy shit... I need to get Peeves for this fucking shit."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So," Thomas said, popping his purple moss. They had made it across the bog, and somehow managed to avoid the ogres' attention, and were now in the tunnel, on their way to Queelag. "You're telling me you had an encounter with a prolific youtuber, and you managed to _intimidate_ him?"

"I'll only pretend to understand part of that," Solaire said, shrugging, "but... yes."

Thomas whistled appreciatively. "Remind me not to piss off any more sizeable forces than I already have." And with that, he stepped through the fog wall.


	17. Familial Clusterfucks

AN:  
atchoum: SURPRISE! You get a little bit more than that.  
themaskedswordsman: Don't give me evil ideas like that. Poor Thomas has enough on his plate. You'll see.  
snat: I'm flattered. Really, I am. Hope I can keep it up to par  
Pokemonever1994: You'd run. I'd run. We'd all run. Though I imagine would try and turn things in his favor with a well placed Force spell or two.  
Ahhh: Well, you see... You'll understand, in time.  
Nolose262: No hablo español, pero me alegro de que te haya gustado. Gracias por la crítica. Y sí, esto fue traducido de Google, por lo que me disculpo si algo sale mal. (For English readers: "I don't speak spanish, but I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for the review. And yes, this was google translated, so I apologize if something comes out wrong.")

17  
Familial Clusterfucks

As Thomas entered the arena, he noticed that there was already someone in there. A blue specter, a Darkmoon Blade, had somehow entered the boss arena, and was engaged with someone wearing a set of dark rags, concealing their body. Wielding dual scimitars with an apparently effortless grace, this combatant engaged with the sword and shielding Darkmoon suddenly swept out a leg, kicking the Blade in the fork of the legs. Thomas' own groin winced in sympathy as the Blade fell to his knees, and the combatant swiftly relieved the warrior of their head. Thomas watched as the specter faded into nothingness, the victor giving their blades a twirl, the blood flying off their weapons, as they then were sheathed at their hips. Turning, Thomas got his first look at the warrior. Sort of. There was a hole in their cowl for their face, but it was wrapped in shadow. But from the depths of the hood, six red eyes glowed. "Hey, Griggs," Thomas asked. "Is this the warrior you mentioned?" The Spook from Vinheim nodded. "Right," Thomas said. "Stand down, guys. I'm going solo."

While everyone stood, and looked on, sheathing weapons, Thomas walked forward, the hooded figure's eyes staring right at him. "The resemblence is there," the figure spoke, unmistakably female. "But you don't seem like the one we've waited for. You're... weaker, for one." A hand raised, and started to stroke a hidden chin. "Hmm... And yet... Your potential remains. I can see it."

"Not that this isn't a fascinating exchange," Thomas cut in, "But who are you, and what is your relation to Izalith?" At this point, the hooded figure's eyes got a glint to them. Reaching for her robes, she suddenly flung them away. Underneath, her torso was covered by what appeared to be a chitin armor fashioned similar to a one-piece swimsuit, leaving her arms and legs bare, and thus her flexibility undaunted.

"Such information must be earned, prophet!" It was at this point that music started playing in Thomas' head, and the bottom of his vision was taken up by a red bar with a name. _Lol'th, First Princess of Chaos_

 _Great,_ Thomas thought. _I'm facing roya- wait a second, First Princess? Lol'th? As in the Spider Queen from fucking DnD? And why is Bayonetta's Fly Me To The Moon playing as boss music?_ Thomas wasn't given more time to think about it, however, as Lol'th's dual scimitars swept from their sheaths, and swung towards him, with him having just enough time to roll backward.

Over at the entrance, Oscar, Solaire, and company prepared weapons, when Kirk raised a hand. "Hold. This is merely a test."

In the fight, Thomas was focusing on dodging where he could, and examination of Lol'th's moves. Whoever she was, she was trained well, giving swift, sweeping moves that made easily flowing combos. At least at first glance, at all times she was ready to switch between combos to mess with him, and had a very, very vast moveset. "I know what you're up to, little prophet," she said calmly, her red eyes glinting with amusement, her fangs bared in a playful smile. "Let's see how you fare against this move." Crouching low, she leaped forward, corkscrewing towards him as a drilling spear of blades.

Thomas rolled forward, and thanked whatever god sent him here that they didn't make him NOT have invincibility frames. As she sailed over him, Thomas pulled out his catalyst, and cracked a Soul Whip at her. The sorcerous tendril coiled around the Chaos Princess's leg, but as Thomas went to yank the whip to throw her to the dirt, she reached down, and _cut_ the magic cord with her blade before it went taut, losing no momentum. "I call bullshit!" Thomas protested as his spell fizzled out.

"Oh, come on," bantered Lol'th. "You're telling me it was all right when Red Hood did it?"

"What?" An Under The Red Hood reference? That was enough to throw Thomas off. He expected many things from this girl. References of Earth movies was not one of them. Drawing his claymore and balder shield, Thomas went into the battle, dodging, blocking, and occasionally attacking. While he was able to ably defend himself well enough, he wasn't able to land any hits. He was in a losing battle, and he knew it. Then, it happened. From Lol'th's back, four giant, spidery arms suddenly sprouted, and impaled Thomas in his sides. "Yikes!" the prophet shouted, wincing in pain. "All right. Who gave you the ability to sprout limbs like fucking D'vorah?"

The fight was over. The boss bar and the music faded. "I can't help my heritage," Lol'th said, adding on another word in a language Thomas didn't recognize.

"Lol'th. Put him down." This voice came from the end of the hall. Quelaag sauntered in, her free hand gently caressing the head of the giant spider she had been fused to.

"But mooom," Lol'th pleaded.

"No buts." Grumbling, Lol'th sat Thomas down, who winced, taking a sip of estus as he did. "Thomas," Quelaag addressed. "I've been awaiting your arrival with much anticipation," she said. "We don't have much time. There is much you must know."

"Right," Thomas said. "I have a couple questions, though."

"They will be answered. Gwyndolin comes. We must be swift with my sister."

"Right."

The party was finally allowed by Kirk to rush forward, and they followed Quelaag to the inner chambers of her domain. Thomas nodded to various teammates, giving them brief instructions. To Solaire and Oscar, "Hold the door." To Laurentius and Griggs, "Ring the bell." To Rhea, "With me."

While they each scrambled to their tasks, Quelaag nodded approvingly. "You work well as a unit. Cohesive. Coherent. You command well."

"I try not to command," Thomas said. "Merely think tactically, and to have us be best prepared for the situations. My foresight merely makes me... Better qualified to do placements, I suppose."

"And yet, your leadership shows," Quelaag said, gently patting Thomas' shoulder. She glanced at Kirk and Lol'th. "See? Even in his youth, he was strong, and wise."

"Calling bullshit on that," Thomas said, knocking on the illusionary wall to reveal Quelaan. "I'm very, _very_ far from wise." Inside, Yulva stood. Thomas could tell by the sealer robes. Her hood was removed, and her face was quite feminine. "Hello, Yulva."

"Lord Thomas," she bowed. "It is an honor."

"Whoa hold on," Thomas stopped everyone. "When did people address MY ass as _lord_?"

"No time," Quelaag interjected. "Yulva, give him the spells." As she did, Thomas looked at them, marveling at them as he read them. Because in addition to her Remedial Sorcery, she gave him spells he had never even heard of before;

 _Purging Chaos_  
 _A product of many lifetimes of work, this pyromancy, developed long ago by an ancient heretic in Oolacile, consumes Dark in a manner similar to how it originally engulfed Izalith. However, weaker creatures touched by this flame will be consumed utterly._

 _Fire has long been an opposite of Dark, but without understanding the balance between, they will ever be enemies._

 _Soul Rune_  
 _This arcane sorcery, developed over eons, was created by an ancient heretic in Oolacile. Placing an intricately written glyph upon the ground, the glyph will detonate with compressed soul energy, damaging enemies in an area._

 _It is rumoured that these arcane traps were created from the pain of the user's soul, violently expressing itself upon one's enemies._

 _Quick Magic Weapon_  
 _One does not often have the time to apply spells to weapons in combat. It was with speed in mind that this sorcery was created. While it's application speed is much faster than it's standard counterparts, the spell's duration and strength suffer as a result._

 _This sorcery would quickly become popular amongst certain warriors from the eventually founded land of Farron._

"Okay. That's a thing," Thomas muttered to himself. After lighting Queelan's bonfire, he then started looking at the Remedial spell, along with Great Heal, mentally analyzing them at a deeper level. He'd created spells by accident before, but this was his first attempt to form one deliberately. _Think, Thomas. What do you know about Sorceries?_ What he knew was fairly straightforward. They were a logical discipline, using formulaic methods to create methodical results. _But..._ Thomas looked closer at the formula, and how it modified the body, seeking impurities, and removing them. _Now... What do we know about miracles?_ They were, essentially, pleas to divine beings. Tales of the deeds of gods and heroes, making excerpts that could be incanted with hope of recieving the god's blessing. And what was known of the Fair Lady was no less than truly heroic, a paragon of selflessness in an increasingly selfish world.

Subconsciously, Thomas started saying Queelan's tale, of how she drank the Blight Pus, taking it unto herself, in order to cure the polluted denizens of Blighttown. Much like sucking on a snakebite, she drew the poison from the wound, and into herself. Somewhere, a connection was made, and the formula, the belief required, started to form. A method of drawing out any poison. Thomas wrapped his talisman around the catalyst in his hand, and continued speaking, his own voice inaudible to him as he moved closer to Queelan. "Sister...?" Queelan asked weakly, "looking" at his direction. Gently, the sorcerer pressed the tip of his catalyst upon the shoulder of the Daughter of Chaos.

Thomas' vision then went black. When he awoke, he would see a bloodstain on the ground right next to him. "What happened?" he asked stupidly.

"You died," Oscar said simply. "The moment you touched her, she started glowing whitish yellow, like with your healing miracles. Only there was a sort of... beam between your faces, comprised of blue energy. At first, nothing seemed to be happening, until we noticed it was... Flowing? Like the magic was flowing from her, to you. And then..." Oscar shuddered, falling silent.

"The Blight Pus," Quelaag supplied. "Your spell reached deep within my sister, and started to draw the poison out from her. Much like her, you took it deep within yourself. It was... Not pleasant to watch, as the poison, contained by the field of your spell, flowed from her into you."

"At first it was little black drops," Yulva added on, "But soon, the entire stream of magic was filled with the stuff. We didn't dare touch you. Eventually, the stuff stopped coming, the both of you shuddered mightily, and collapsed. You died on the spot."

Thomas, understandably, found this rather interesting, in the "Holy crap that sounds horrifying" kind of way. "How's Queelan? And how long was I dead?"

"She seems stable," Yulva confirmed. "Though only time will truly tell."

"Time," Thomas scoffed. "The one thing that is never constant." Getting up, Thomas brushed off his pants. "All right, and my other question?"

"Thou returnd'st quickly," Rhea said. "Though thine betrothed expressed worry."

"My..." Thomas paused, and turned to Rhea. "Excuse me, my what now?"

"She did not stutter," Solaire chuckled. "Time is convoluted. Apparently, you are to travel to the past, and play the dashing prince who wins the young princess' heart."

"That's... not on the script," Thomas muttered.

"It was a lovely wedding," Queelag interjected. "And truly, Thomas. Did you not wonder where your children had came'st from?"

"My wHAT?! How did I even-?"

"So," another voice interjected, a glowing golden light forming behind Thomas. "I has't finally found thee."

Whirling, Thomas realized his questions would have to wait. Gwyndolin had decided to arrive. 


	18. IT'S A TRAP!

Author's Note: First of all, Happy (belated) Halloween! Second of all, sorry for the delay. I've been moving to a new home, looking for work, and in between it all, Dragon's Dogma ate up what little time I had left. Anyways, you're not here for my stupid excuses, you're here for the next chapter of the fic (presumably)! But first, a response to a couple reviews;

Dazac: Yeah. That's deliberate.  
coduss: Yeah, my brain hurt for awhile when I was mentally mapping all the bullshit planned as well.  
ShmokeyDaBear: Oh dear gods NO. No Gwyndolin is not. Don't scare me like that.  
Avalance-dragoon: Is this an answer?

Now, without further adiue, let the fuckery commence!

18  
IT'S A TRAP!

In the presence of Gwyndolin, the company had various reactions. Solaire, a loyal adherent to Gwyn still, immediately kneeled, while Oscar, after a brief bow, remained standing. Rhea looked away, as though feeling some shame at her recent heresy. Speaking of heretics, Thomas and Laurentius stood. _Presumably,_ Thomas thought. _Laurentius stood because pyromancers were never respected amongst the "more civilized" dieties._

"Heretic," the last god of Anor Londo declared. "Thou hast journeyed far. Hear my voice."

"Oy vey," Thomas muttered. "Does your pompous manner know no end?"

"Thou'rt accused," Gwyndolin continued undaunted, "of possession of the power of the Ancient Dragons, blasphemy of the highest degree, murder of the pardoner of Velka, the bearing of forbidden knowledge, and attempted rebuilding of a kingdom of foul demons."

"Excuse me-," Thomas tried interjecting.

"For the past 300 years, thou hast conspired with the wretched denizens of Fallen Izalith, attempted to steal the warriors of Anor Londo, and casually blasphemed against the names of gods."

"Excuse me-"

"Thou'st a vile, wretched fiend who whispers vile lies into the hearts of all around him, declaring them friends. But thou wilt sacrifice them unto his own ends, should they deign no longer necessary to thee. Thine-"

Thomas had had enough, and fired a soul arrow at the god. It did nothing, as apparently Gwyndolin was some sort of hologram, and merely went through the being as though it was nothing, but it was still enough to make Gwyndolin pause.

"Thou would'st strike against the divine?" Gwyndolin asked, shock and anger apparent on his voice. "Does thine heretical blasphemy know no end?"

"I suppose not," Thomas growled. "I'll respect a god that has earned my respect first. And you have earned nothing from me." Gwyndolin glowered at him. That is to say, while his face looked on impassively, the heads of his many snaked legs looked at Thomas, glaring. _I suppose that's how he sees, what with that bigass crown on his head._ "I've got a myriad of questions, but that's not the important thing. The important thing is the future. For instance, I know how you are destined to die, if you don't let me help fix things."

"You've done enough, heretic! On this day, thou'st shalt die!"

Quelaag then stepped in front of Thomas with surprising speed, considering her... abominal size. "Gwyndolin of the Dark Sun," she hissed in Izalithian, such was her rage. "Sole remaining deity of Anor Londo. Know'st thee this. To lay a hand upon him is to lay a hand upon all of Izalith. To strike at him is to strike at the fires of Chaos. Would you attempt to deny him coming unto his own? Would you invite war with the demons?"

Thomas tried to get a word in edgewise, when Gwyndolin scoffed. "Anor Londo has bested you pathetic abominations before. We will do it again. 'twould not be a war. Merely a cleansing of troublesome pests. A hive of termites left alone far too long."

"Ex-fucking-scuse me," Thomas moved forward, taking center stage between them once more. "Have your issues with me if you wish, Dork Sun. But leave this sovereign people alone. I don't make any claims about kingships or crowns. I'm merely a traveler from a far-off land. Technically, I didn't even ask to come here, and am frankly annoyed about it all. But leave Izalith alone. Let them live their lives in peace. You want to deal with me? Then do it. As an old man in a Western once said, "If you're going to shoot, shoot. Don't talk.""

Thomas stepped into a confident pose, as though facing Gwyndolin was the simplest thing on his agenda thus far. "And I hate to break it to you, but you will never have your father's approval. No matter how many human sacrifices you throw onto the First Flame to overextend your deceased age, your equally dead father would have never given his love and affection to a deformed cripple like yourself. And that's because Gwyn is an absolutely shitty father who cared about his own power and nothing else."

"ENOUGH!" Gwyndolin cried. "Thou may'st blaspheme against me if thou so wish'st, but the name of the Great Lord wilt not be despoiled by thine tongue, nor any other!"

"How's your brother?" Thomas asked quietly, effectively hushing the Dark Sun.

Confusion emanated across the room, when Solaire finally spoke up. "Brother? What brother? The Great Lord Gwyn only ever had two children? Gwyndolin and Gwynevere."

"There was a third," Thomas said. "Back in the ancient days, during the war against the dragons, Gwyn's firstborn son was a dragonslaying god of war. He respected strength of arms, and little else. During the war with the dragons, he grew to respect the strength and skill of the dragons he fought, and eventually tamed a stormdrake, with which he would, and has still to this day, lead a lifetime of battle."

"How dost thee know this..." Gwyndolin hissed. "The records..."

"Oh yes, the records," Thomas continued, a sour taste in his voice. "See, the _Great Lord_ saw this as nothing less than the ultimate betrayal. His son, heir to the throne of Anor Londo, and the rays of sunlight he wielded, was dead to him. Any and all record of his existence. Every note, every tome, every statue, everything about him, was stripped. Gwyn wanted his son gone. His godly status, his very name, was removed. He lives still, a nameless king without a kingdom. An exile. A warrior. A Lord." Thomas rounded on Gwyndolin. "Merely because your father couldn't see past his own, petty hatreds. Will you fall victim to the same trap?" Thomas double checked his weapons, and made sure they were sheathed, and his hands were empty, before walking to the specter of Gwyndolin.

"Leave war with Izalith behind. It's not them you want in the first place. It's me. But while we're here having a nice pow-wow, I thought I'd offer an opportunity." At this, the young sorcerer extended his hand. "Put aside your father's hatred. His battles are not your own. His rage, not yours. His jealousy and fear should not rule you." The Dark Sun looked down, as though pondering. "Gwyn's a dead king, with a dead crown. Don't die with him, Gwyndolin."

Like a viper, Gwyndolin snapped back up, and blue light came down from the ceiling, beaming down on Thomas with the weight of at least seven trucks. "Thou... wilt not... blaspheme... against... my father. And thou wilt afford me the respect due to the captain of the Darkmoon Knights, due to the god of the Dark Sun, to the sole guardian of Anor Londo!"

Thomas raised a hand placatingly. "Apologies. I'm just... In a bind. As are you. But if you don't work with me, if you don't allow me to break fate, you too, face a sorry end." Gwyndolin glared at him, and this time, Thomas returned the stare. "Imagine, if you will. Betrayal from one of your own Darkmoon Knights, poisoned, weakened, as he declared himself Pontiff, taking command over your people, an iron fist in a velvet glove. Imagine yourself weakening further, your last family imprisoned, as you are lead to the cathedral of the Great Lord. Anor Londo's silver-armored knights consumed, their armor being used as grisly puppets filled with rotten meat, in service to another, cruel god who wishes not for an age of Fire, but of deep water. And imagine, spending days in unending agony, as this god devours you, slowly, exulting in your suffering, prolonging your end just so they can luxuriate in the painful shudders of your screams. Imagine no sun, Dark or Light, hanging over Anor Londo, for the rest of eternity. This is the future that is ahead of you. Will you allow it? Will you allow Yorshka to wonder what ever became of her brother?"

"ENOOOOOOUUUUGH!"

Gwyndolin glared at Thomas, unadultered hatred pouring from him. _Touched a nerve, there,_ Thomas thought.

"The answer, is no, heretic. I will not work with one who debases the gods so."

"You're making a mistake," Thomas warned.

"No. Clearly, I am making the right choice. Your punishment is decided. Thou wilt spend the remainder of thine days trapped in a particular prison. There, the prison shalt be left to rot, and you with it!" At this point, a hole opened under Thomas, and he barely managed to grab onto the edges. Solaire tried reaching through, but the moment his hand touched the blue light, he recoiled, clutching his hand in pain.

Looking below, Thomas made an educated guess. It seemed like he was going to see some kindness after all. "Solaire!" Thomas called, the wind of the painted world forcing him to shout. "The painting in Anor Londo! The doll! I'm in the painted world of Aria-" Anything else he would have said was cut off. Literally. Gwyndolin closed the portal on his hand, taking the sorcerer's fingers with them, forcing Thomas to fall to the Painted World of Ariamis with fewer fingers and more swears. Before long, there was a thud, and then silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 **Lol'th - The Outskirts of New Izalith**

The First Princess of Chaos was furious, and yet calm. Father had told her, long ago, that this would come to pass. She knew. And she also knew what she had to do. But this did nothing to quell the rage burning within her breast. Drawing her jagged scimitars, she snarled at the aspect of Gwyndolin. "You will release my father! Now!"

The god gave a disdainful laugh. "Under who's authority? Yours? The authority of abominations and brats mean little to me, less when the brats are also abominations." And at this, Gwyndolin vanished, one of Lol'th's scimitars quickly striking where his head was. Then, she turned to Thomas' friends. They were in various degrees of shock. Solaire, Pharis and Rhea were looking at the floor, as though unbelieving that he had fell through. Had this not been a prophecy come to pass, Lol'th wouldn't have believed it either. This Thomas was a torch to a wildfire, compared to her father, but the flames were similar enough that she could still see him as such. Laurentius, Griggs, and Charles all seemed in a state of disbelief.

The one who took it worst, however, was Oscar. Fallen to his knees, the knight had pounded twice at the floor, expecting it to give. Shaking his head, he looked to Lol'th, as though asking what they should do now. _"This is your time",_ Father's voice echoed in her head. _"There comes a time in every woman's life where she needs to learn to lead, to take charge."_

 _I hope I don't let you down, father..._ she thought to herself. "We march on Sen's Fortress," she said. "Then we make our way to Anor Londo, and free Father from the painting. Solaire. You have the doll?" Nodding, Solaire pulled it out as confirmation. "Good. Then let's go."

AN: And so ends the first arc of the story: Prophet. When I can be bothered to write the first chapter to the next arc, Exile, depends on my living situation. Rate, review, I would appreciate constructive criticism. ttfn 


	19. Entrance To The Painted World

AN: So begins the first chapter into the second arc: Exile. Hope you guys like it. Onto reviews!

~~  
eternal king of fire  
"I want Gwyndolin to get destroyed the little shit deserves it. Also, I'm hyped for the next arc"  
Me: Well, Thomas would disagree there. Gwyndolin is just a kid with godly power and daddy issues. If you haven't seen TerraMantis' Gwyndolin The Forgotten lore video, I suggest you rectify this matter. Gwyndolin is a tragic figure lashing out because he refuses to listen, refuses to understand. All he wants is his father's approval. But his father is long gone. I'll touch on that in another chapter.

tylermech66: hrm, I demand friendship between Priscilla and Thomas through philosophical debates. GIMME  
Me: Maybe another time. But not today.

Guest: I got flashbacks to Wind Waker, there.  
Me, a person who has neither played nor watched gameplay footage of Windwaker: How?

Final note: The title to the chapter here is a song by a black metal band inspired by Dark Souls called Soulmass. Check 'em out on Youtube!

Now that that's done, to the story itself!

 **19**  
 **Vicissitudinous Entrance to the Painted World**

 **Thomas,**  
 **The Painted World of Ariamis**

As the undead sorcerer fell towards the world below, he attempted to flatten himself against the air. Every video game he ever played that had free-falling (as well as his meager understanding of physics) had done that to increase wind resistance, allegedly to slow the fall, gain control over _where_ they fell. _Don't kid yourself, Thomas,_ he thought to himself. _You're splatting either way._

 _True enough,_ his mind countered, as he held an internal debate. _But that doesn't mean I shouldn't splat somewhere my Souls won't be recollectable._ Having smoothed out his falling to where he was spread-eagle, he finally broke through the clouds, and saw the Painted World of Ariamis properly. _Let's see... Where to allow myself to become a greasy stain upon the universe... So many options..._ It was then that Thomas saw a very familiar pile of rotting flesh perched upon a broken bridge.

Who could say how long this dragon was laying there, wretched and decayed? Who knew how long the ancient, once proud beast had been forced to lay there, suffering as it's life-force became putrid. No longer able to breathe fire, this poor creature could only cough up toxic gasses, though they were still lethal to any who faced it. Sure, this dragon was a formidable threat, to anyone who didn't feel like cheesing it with arrows from a safe distance, but it had suffered far too long. _A quick death would be merciful to this once-proud creature..._ His mind decided, Thomas piloted his falling body to where he was on a collision course with the slumbering dragon's head. Preparing twin fireballs in his fists, he pressed his legs together while holding his arms to his chest, reducing his wind resistance, and having him barrel to the dragon's head at top speed. He prayed that the initial, explosive impact would be enough to finish it off in a single go. _Bo Wah Drem, Dovah Krosis._ Go with peace, sorrowful dragon. The flames overtook Thomas' body, and he closed his eyes, a flaming comet ready to impact.

When Thomas awoke, he was surrounded by snow, still, with a wide brimmed, pointed hat looking down at him. His vision was blurred, so he couldn't immediately place where he'd seen it before. He could hear a bonfire crackling nearby. "Gandalf?" he groaned through the pain. "Is that you?" He tried rolling his shoulders, surprised to feel them in pain. _I thought that when I came back, I wouldn't feel it. I guess it was just that severe a sensation. Lovely._ Lovely indeed, the idea that some pain was so excruciating, that even dying only deadened it somewhat. _This just means Smough's hammertime will suck even more._

"I hold no delusions of knowing whom this "Gandalf" is," the voice responded from underneath their hat. "But I do know who you are, which says much about your situation." The voice sounded slightly cranky, and definitely female. Looking up, Thomas squinted. Dirty robes and clothing, with a twisted staff. The wide brimmed hat looked upward, and grey eyes squinted at him. "You're certainly less impressive than I expected. Though I suppose that, ironically, is to BE expected."

It was then that Thomas recognized her. "Beatrice."

"Still perceptive, at least. That will be helpful. Get up. Your little attempt to kill the dragon was pathetic. In fact, you pissed it off, you stupid little would-be hero." Pointing at the nearby tower, Beatrice's finger lead to a rotted dragon's torso, climbing towards the top as it's back half fell off, decayed organs falling to splash upon the ground. Admittedly, the attack did some good, as half it's face was off, but what remained of it's face portrayed a rage so present, that even it's dead face could give it off.

"Oh," Thomas muttered. "Joy."

 **Lol'th,**  
 **Lordran**

Marching through the Valley of the Drakes was a pain for the Princess of Chaos. Not because of the undead dragon. Between Solaire's lightning, as well as the plentiful arrows of both Pharis and Oscar, the beast didn't stand a chance, unable even to reach them. It was keeping these undead from falling off the cliff. It's not like it was an unmanageable delay, but now they were on a schedule, and needed to save as much time as possible. A couple extra seconds to go through the cliff slowly was better than a few minutes waiting for someone to respawn and return. "We need to take the elevator to New Londo's ruins. From there, we can take the elevator to Firelink Shrine, and then take the elevator to the Undead Parish. If you wish, however, we can rest at the bonfire in Firelink, before proceeding to the Parish. The route is not without dangers, for the Dark Sun will seek to delay or destroy us where it can."

"Actually..." Pharis spoke up, her voice hesitant. "Lautrec already killed her. We tried to stop him, but he used a crystal, and vanished to his own world."

"Right," Lol'th sighed. "Then you are going to have to be cautious until such a time as we reach the bonfire in the Parish. Besides, I imagine you will be happy to see the old blacksmith Andre again." Accepting, and filing away this information, she pressed on. This development wasn't exactly unexpected, but it would have been nice to have _some_ good news to work with.

The least enjoyable part for her was New Londo, and dealing with it's elevator. Not so much because it didn't work. It did. But the group had to go in multiple trips. Kirk went up with only Solaire and Oscar, by reason of the knights' armor better able to protect against her brothers' thorns. Lol'th, Laurentius, and Rhea took the second trip, which irked the Princess. The once-drowned city of New Londo had been unsealed by Kirk, in order for him to trick Kaathe of one of his red-eye orbs, and the stench of the rotting bodies reached her even from here. _Note: Convince Father that burning the bodies is a good idea._ Thankfully, they didn't have to wait too long, as she could hear the chains slowly bringing the lift back down. "This place gives me the creeps," she muttered.

Rhea nodded. "I understand. There is... much unrest here. Too many innocents wrongly snuffed. Kneeling, Rhea clutched her talisman to her breast, muttering in prayer, before standing. "I hope they find some measure of peace in this twisted, forgotten grave in the Dark. Mayhap we should come, and bless this site, so as to lift their sorrows. When our task is completed, of course."

Lol'th shook her head. "I wish that it would work. But it's likely too close to the Abyss for any god to care." At this, the elevator ground to a halt, as she afforded herself a small smile. "But your heart is noble, little priestess. Perhaps one day, we shall return, and give what kindness we may. Does that sound amicable?"

Rhea nodded sorrowfully. "Let us be rid of this place for now. Their pain weighs heavily upon my heart."

As they ascended, Lol'th nudged the priestess. "You've got a big heart, you know. Some people would rather not come back."

Rhea seemed uncomfortable by the praise. "I merely wish I could do more to help."

"You're plenty helpful. You just haven't found an area you shine at," Lol'th said.

 **Beatrice,**  
 **The Painted World of Ariamis**

"So..." Thomas began, looking at the angry, partially destroyed dragon corpse. "I fucked up?"

"Clearly," Beatrice responded with a tone of minor annoyance, before raising her catalyst. "Now I need to clean up your mess." Her catalyst shone with sorcerous energy, before she slammed it into the ground. An eruption of Soul Energy burst forth from the ground, multitudinous spheres rising from the sky. Expertly shaping the energy with a few deft twists of her hand. Thomas, meanwhile, gaped idiotically, as though he had never seen a master sorcerer in action before. The spell wasn't even that grand. It was merely Homing Soulmass, but tailored to increase the number of projectiles tenfold, and instead of being merely bound to hover around her head, floated around her like little stars in a galaxy, for which she was the center. Guiding, she then fired, the bolts all flying towardsthe dragon.

"No way," Thomas muttered. "That thing is way outside of the projectile range for spells. They'll-" He was effectively silenced like an idiot when the bolts of magic peppered the undead dragon, blasting it's rotted form into molding chunks, silencing the beast eternally.

"What will they do, little prophet," she asked humorously.

Thomas still had a finger raised in the air, as though he had some comment, before lowering it, shaking his head. "Perks of 99 Int, I suppose. Anyways, could you teach this to me?"

"No. It's not something I can exactly teach you." At this, Beatrice smiled at her little joke. Of course she couldn't teach him. That would be paradoxic, no doubt.

Thomas grumbled under his breath, but eventually conceded. "Fair enough, I suppose... So what are you doing here?"

"Apart from dealing with roused dragons awakened by would-be heroes or self-proclaimed prophets, I wished to question your resolve."

"Meaning?"

 _Exactly what you think it does_ , and then some, Beatrice thought cynically. "Who exactly are you?"

"I'm Thomas, from Earthrealm, sent by Ormagoden to be his prophEUGH!" Beatrice jabbed the butt of her catalyst into his gut, sending him doubling over.

"Please, enough with the theatrics," she responded, bored. "What are your motivations? What do you seek to gain from this little venture of yours?"

The little sorcerer's eyes narrowed. "Gain? I don't seek to gain anything."

"Then why press onward? Why dive headlong into danger? Why do you trouble yourself with the fates of those who wouldn't concern themselves with you, if the roles were reversed? Why dive headlong into conflicts with gods and demons? Wouldn't it be easier to just tell the world to sod off, and to manage itself?" Cutting Thomas off, she continued. "Reject this path, reject your destiny, and seek a new way to live your life. Would it not be easier to-"

"YES!" Thomas cried out, cutting her off in turn. "Yes. It would be easy. So easy to give up. To give in. To despair. As far as I know I am trapped here. I can never get out. Never go home. I had friends. I had family. But I'm trapped here now. And all around me is pain and despair, suffering and loss." Standing, Thomas looked Beatrice in the eye, and she saw a fire there. "This world is dying. If the Fire is linked, all we're doing is delaying the inevitable. If it goes to Dark the Abyss will consume it all. An alternative solution is definitively required. If a solution can be found, I'll find it."

"And if it doesn't exist? What if your efforts are fruitless, and naught can be done?"

Thomas turned away, before sighing heavily. "Then I will repeat another's mistakes, and link the Flame. You're clever AND undead. You can then, hopefully, see about finding a solution, and making me the last sacrifice. You'll have borrowed time, but hopefully I can borrow you enough."

To this, the Sorceress raised an eyebrow. "You would throw yourself upon the First Flame, then? Even if you acknowledge it to be the improper path of action? Most interesting."

"I don't believe in pointless sacrifice. If I can't find a solution, however, I..." Thomas paused a moment longer, before releasing his breath. "I'll do it. And my last thoughts will be a prayer that someone takes up the torch. To keep seeking. To think outside the box, and to find a solution to this eternal conundrum this world has had thrust up it's ass." While his back was largely turned toward her, Beatrice thought she could see the corner of a smile on the edge of his face. "If my sacrifice means buying enough time for someone else to save the world, I'm more than okay with that."

"Hm... I see." After some thought, the sorceress allowed herself a small chuckle. "You truly are a strange one, aren't you?"

"Heh," Thomas chuckled in return. "You could say that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so ends the first chapter of Exile. Sorry again for the delay. Life's been a bitch (We're actually late on our water bill. Oops). Read, review, maybe give power suggestions, and prepare. For next comes Sen's Funhouse. 


	20. Why Do You Fight?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
20  
Why Do You Fight?

 **Siegmeyer,**  
 **Undead Parish**

"Well," the knight mumbled to himself. "This place certainly seems to have gotten a lot more interesting." He had returned to Andre after his first attempt braving Sen's Fortress, to no avail. The fiends within were much tougher than he anticipated. Then he returned to the smith to find a veritable army waiting for him. Four knights, each with different armor sets, a Vinheim Spook, a priestess of Thorolund, an archer, and a couple of pyromancers. "Wat ho," he called out. One of the pyromancers, a woman in black robes, turned towards him, and for a moment he swore he saw the fires of Hell in her eyes, but they softened, and she smiled.

"Welcome to our little party, Siegmeyer of Catarina."

This partially put him on guard, and he kept a grip on his zweihander as he approached. "Forgive me," he said cautiously, "But you seem to know me, and it would be very much a good thing if I knew you, in turn."

The woman's eyes flashed, and Siegmeyer realized that the count of how many eyes she had was wrong. No human had four eyes upon their heads. He gauged his options, when she laughed, throwing back her hood, revealing a pale face, catlike pupils to her four eyes, and a mixture of reddish black hair that reminded him of blackened lava. "My name is Lol'th. First Princess of the Free Lands of Fiery Izalith, Birthplace of the molten Chaos Flame. We mean you no harm, and in fact come bearin fellowship." To this end, the woman, Lol'th, pulled forth a fistful of black masses... Siegmeyer's eyes widened. Those were...

"Humanity sprites," he breathed.

"A peace offering, if you will," Lol'th offered. "You are a mighty warrior indeed, who's skill and valor precedes you, in a manner. In fact, we seem to be going the same direction. My companions and I have business ahead, and the only way is through that fortress. I see no reason we should have our blades at each others' sides, as opposed to each others' throats." Then, Lol'th thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "Or, if you wish, you can merely take the sprites, and wait. We'll be out of your way, and you'll be free to go as you will without interference from us."

Siegmeyer's senses screamed "Trap!", and so he remained especially wary. "To what end do you seek to bribe me, witch?"

The party seemed to bristle slightly, but at a raised fist from one of the knights, clad in a strange, black armor, they fell still. Come to think of it, hadn't Siegmeyer heard of that style of armor before... "My sister seeks not betrayal, sir Knight," the warrior in black responded. "Either way, you're in a no-lose scenario. Stay, and gain free sprites that some of us fought hard to gain. Come, and you gain an adventure that you can tell your family for generations to come, in addition to the sprites."

The woman tossed the sprites at Siegmeyer, who allowed them to fall to the floor as opposed to fumbling with his weapons trying to catch them. "I know your armor, Knight."

The Darkwraith chuckled to himself. "Just as your reputation precedes you, it seems mine betrays me. I suppose you wouldn't believe that I turned over a new leaf?"

"I would not," Siegmeyer said adamantly. "Once a Darkwraith, ever a Darkwraith, Knight of Thorns." Stabbing the end of his blade into the ground, Siegmeyer looked at Kirk fiercely. "I challenge you to a duel. Singular combat, so that those innocents you slew may be avenged at my hands."

The woman in black threw her hands up in the air. "We don't have time for this."

"Then go on ahead," Kirk said. "Sometimes we need to earn our trust. My path will always be harder than others in this regard." This said, Kirk drew his blade, facing down the warrior from Catarina. "There is a bonfire above. I suggest we rest there first, so as to minimize loss for either party. Sound agreeable?"

 **Beatrice,**  
 **The Painted World of Ariamis**

After a moment of rest at the bonfire, Beatrice noticed that the self-proclaimed prophet had wandered off. "Where is that idealistic idiot off to, now?" she wondered aloud to herself. Pulling herself up, the witch grabbed her catalyst, and started walking, following the footprints in the snow, when she saw him already walking back, merry as ever as he used his sleeve to clean the soot off his sword.

"Hey Beatrice! Guess who managed to create the Carthus Flame Arc centuries before the nation even existed!" he said, before casually tossing a black, squarish object into the air before catching it. "Not to mention this Occult Ember will be great for when I start going after specific bosses. Also, my fist can become a flamethrower now. Got a new Pyromancy."

Beatrice's expression immediately soured further, and the fool noticed, tilting his head slightly. "Everything okay, B?"

Giving an exasperated sigh, Beatrice clapped her hands sarcastically, walking closer to him. "Hail," she called in a dour tone. "The wandering warlord. The thieving tyrant, bearing his stolen spoils from the fallen, fiery fragments of the forlorn."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, concerned. "I don't get it. Everyone here is either dead or mad, anyways."

"Exactly, fool. That's how it starts. By bullying those weaker than you." At this, the self-proclaimed Seer stopped, looking at her directly. "You see the truth in my words, boy."

He nodded. "Alright, fair enough. But what if I intended to use it for the greater good?"

"The methods matter just as much as the intent, if not moreso. Would you slay every last living thing in this world, just to proclaim that you have brought peace to it?"

"No, of course not," Thomas said, taken aback. "That's a horrifying idea, and I'm... actually kinda freaked you'd bring it up."

Beatrice nodded. "Exactly. You see what I mean." She raised her head slightly, allowing her eye to catch his from under the broad brim of her hat. "You are quite the fool. But at least you're not an idiot. You show promise, but only if you are willing to learn."

"Learn the importance of not just why, but how and when?"

At this, Beatrice chuckled slightly. "Amongst other things."

Thomas nodded his head thoughtfully. "How did you get here, anyways?"

"I'm a heretic, in a painting designed to house all the things the gods do not like, and yet you're surprised by my presence?"

"Well... yes."

"Explain. And I'll know if you're lying." The boy seemed taken aback, as though he had a little story all prepared for her. After fidgeting a few moments, he sat down at the bonfire.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Taking a deep sigh, the fool seemed to gather himself. "I'm Thomas. A... false, self-proclaimed prophet from another world." Pulling out his catalyst, Thomas started to draw, albeit sloppily, a picture of a globe on the ground. His hands were shaking slightly as he drew, from either inexperience or nervousness, Beatrice couldn't entirely tell. "I claim to be a prophet from Earthrealm, under the god Ormhagoden, but the closest thing to the truth is that I'm just some kid from a planet named Earth."

Raising an eyebrow, Beatrice looked at him. "You are from an alternate planet?"

"Alternate universe, but yes, that too." At Beatrice's questioning gaze, Thomas continued. "I'll level with you. I don't know how the fuck I got here. In Lordran at all. In my universe, your world doesn't exist. It's a fiction. An interactive story, of which you're all just characters. Pixels and data."

"I see," Beatrice said, closing her eyes with certainty. "So this is why you carry yourself the way you do. Because you see us as fictitious creatures, beneath your concern. Is that it?"

 **Kirk,**  
 **Undead Parish**

 _CLANG!_ Kirk rolled to the side, the Zweihander cracking the floor as it slammed into where he had just been standing. A duck backwards, and he avoided a horizontal cut. "This is pointless, Catarinan," Kirk admonished. "There's no way there can be a real winner to this fight."

"Silence your tongue!" Siegmeyer shouted. "As long as there is breath in my body, I will not stop until you pay for your crimes against the virtuous and the innocent!"

Kirk made a noise that sounded like a mixture of a harrumph and a chuckle. Knowing the fight had to be managed quickly (they were on a time table, after all), he examined his opponent, formulating a strategy when... _Found it._ Moving in close while Siegmeyer prepared another overhead swing, Kirk quickly tossed his weapons to the side, and grabbed at the blade, catching it in the blunt, secondary handle part of the blade. Bracing himself, he caught, and held, the weapon, stopping the swing in it's tracks.

"Release my weapon at once, monster! I, Siegmeyer of Catarina, will not yield to the likes of you!"

A dark chuckle emanated from the thorned chest of the former Darkwraith. _"Monster,"_ he repeated, as though tasting the word. "We are judged by our deeds. But never are we asked our motivations behind them. Yes... From my deeds, I could easily seem a monster. And yet... I am not." Arms straining to hold back the sword, Kirk continued. "I could be a monster. It would be _easy_." A shadowy unlight seemed to flicker around Kirk as he spoke, especially gathering into his hands as the art of Lifedrain appeared in them. "I can sense the Humanity within you. Your own fragments of a once mighty soul, more powerful than either of us. It would be easy, _so easy_ , to reach out and take it for myself. To drain. Steal. Devour your very life, leaving you a hollow, withered husk on the ground." Moving to the side, he allowed the zweihander to slam to the ground. "But what good would that do?"

Siegmeyer looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"You and I are both warriors. We have reasons why we fight. However, my reasons for fighting see no reason to attack you. You are not an enemy, nor would your defeat gain enough good to outweigh the bad. In all this, you are an innocent."

"And what of the innocents you've drained in the past," Siegmeyer retorted. "Where was this concern then?"

"Have you ever done something terrible, in the name of helping another? What if you had to take a life, several, even, in order to save another? Would you do it? Even if it was your family on the line?" After only silence came as a response. Kirk picked up, and sheathed, his weapons. "Until such a time, I ask you keep your judgements to yourself. Stay here, or come with me to the fortress. It makes little difference to me." Turning his back to the proud onion, Kirk walked off, when-

"Knight." Kirk stopped, turning just slightly to indicate Siegmeyer had his attention. "This person you fought to save. Did you manage it?"

Kirk shook his head. "Not without help. Nobody survives alone, in this world. This truth is the one constant." And so, he marched, paying no heed as to whether Siegmeyer followed or not.

 **Thomas,**  
 **The Painted World of Ariamis**

"Lording it over us "false" people. You deign yourself the only one that can do anything to "fix" this world. Is that it?" Beatrice continued to beat at him verbally, as though he was the greatest evil in the world.

"No." Thomas had been sitting on the ground, letting the abuse roll over him like water. "I don't believe that."

"Really. You're telling me that you DON'T know all the answers? That your false god doesn't give you magnificient powers?" Beatrice managed a false gasp. "Imagine my shock. Explain it, then. Your pompousness. Your foolhardiness, your ever-arrogant, devils may care attitude!"

"Simple." At this, Thomas rose, looking Beatrice in the eyes. "You say you can tell whether or not I'm lying. Then pay close attention, and try and call me a liar here."

"I never had all the answers," Thomas continued. "I'm no mighty hero. No wise sage. I'm just some guy who found himself in a world that is _dying_. And I decided to do something about it. Not because of glory. Not because of power, or arrogance. But because evil wins when good men do nothing. And I'm not going to sit here and say I'm a good man, but I will do what I can to help others. Because if it's in my power to help others, why shouldn't I? My bravado? The unwavering confidence? It's an act. All of it." Thomas cocked a grin, shaking his head as he tossed his arms slightly. "I talk, and talk, and posture, all to mask my own fear and insecurity. I'm afraid. Afraid of dying, afraid of possibly suffering for eternity because of Linking the Flame, if I couldn't find a solution. Afraid of failure. Afraid of innocents suffering for the mistakes of others. All the fucking fucked up shit that's happened to this world? It's no surprise it's going mad."

Turning away from Beatrice, he looked into the distance. Specifically, he looked in the direction of Priscilla's bossroom. "People have been punished for shit they couldn't control, circumstances beyond them. And for the actions of others. Humanity is being punished, _has_ been being punished, because of Gwyn's fear of the Dark. Hell, Humanity fucking _helped_ Gwyn in the war against the dragons, and his response was to lock them the fuck up. He punished his daughter by turning into a fucking key to hide the Dark Soul. Undead, who have no choice in the matter, were either imprisoned or enslaved by Humanity, to fight their battles, their wars for them."

"Then why? Why fight for a world that is not your own? Why do you fight a world so undeserving?"

In a flare of conviction, Thomas rounded to Beatrice. "Because it's still worth saving!" he shouted, voice echoing throughout the Painted World. Closing his eyes, Thomas thought back to his own world, and yet not. Back when the worlds were still digital entertainment media. Back when he encountered an ancient Aldmer who had long been an observer. "The world," he repeated, "is always worth saving. No matter how wicked or corrupt it is. For the world is but a reflection of our own minds. And that revelation is what keeps the darkness at bay."

Beatrice smiled at him. "There you are. The bumbling fool I know of." At Thomas' puzzled expression, she laughed quietly. "We've met before. Or rather, we will meet. Depends on the perspective. I'll spoil this much. You become wiser. Still a fool. But an honest one. And you have a good heart. Go. You've passed the test. Your convictions are as pure as your heart, and-"

"Oh, please." Thomas interrupted. "Nobody has a pure heart."

Beatrice smiled more fully. "Okay, that was the last test. NOW you've passed."

At that, Thomas blinked. "I send you to myself, don't I? Make sure I refrain from becoming a selfish bastard?"

"Yep."

"Not sure whether or not to pat myself on the back for that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Sorry for taking so long. I technically don't have days off anymore. And I was stumped on the interaction between Thomas and Beatrice, which was the primary delay factor. And I do hope this doesn't feel rushed, as I DO have work tomorrow (yay! That paycheck feels good man). Also I lied about the funhouse being next, apparently.

Anyways, to respond to reviews:

Schmokey: Possibly. Thomas isn't a complete idiot, after all.  
Shadowcraft: I'd have to complete DS2 first (Only beaten 1 and 3 so far), but I'm not opposed to the idea, and in fact intend for him to visit other worlds when he's done here.  
Thought: I have no idea what you're reffering to, tbh. I've slept since then.  
Verdauga: Thanks! I'm glad I could make it interesting even for someone who's not been into the series!

Rate, review, and please don't beat me over the head. Remember. Merely delayable. -shrug- 


	21. The Irony of Seeking Out

21  
The Irony of Seeking Out

 **Solaire**  
 **Sen's Fortress**

Talisman gripped in hand, the Warrior of Sunlight did what he could to circle the monstrous, stony abomination. Kirk and Lol'th were running distraction duty upon the titanite beast before them, but he was their weakness. In spite of it wielding the gods' lightning, it was weak to the selfsame force. That's where he came in. Slogging forward, the tar gripping his feet, slowing his movement, Solaire gave his prayer. _There's more to your spear than merely a javelin to be thrown,_ Lol'th had told him. _In the days of the war against the dragons, father teaches that the gods would take their Spears, and drive them directly into the flesh of the dragons, staking it into their weak spots._

 _Okay,_ he thought to himself, sheathing his sword, and preparing to grapple. _Time to ignore all my training for safety, and be reckless._ Grabbing at the monstrosity's back, he clambered up as best as he could, and charged his Spear. In it, he poured more than just his prayer. He emptied his fury, his frustration, his seeking desire for his own Sun and, taking the spear in hand, drove it into the stone creature's head. Bellowing in pain, the creature reared, and Solaire withdrew the spear, an extension of himself, and slammed again, and again. With a mighty bellow, the monstrosity fell still, leaving some of it's flesh behind. Taking the demon titanite, Kirk pocketed it.

"That's the last of them, correct?" At Lol'th's nodding, Kirk smiled. "Told her us three would be sufficient."

"Whom?" Solaire asked, curious. "Your mother?"

"Nay, Solaire," the demon princess responded. "Our aunt. Well. Sort of aunt." As they talked they ascended the ladder leading back to the proper fortress. "Have you ever had a friend that was close enough that they were basically family? That's basically what our aunt is. She's not related by blood, but she may as well be."

"I see," Solaire said thoughtfully. "May I ask why she wondered at your numbers?"

"Oh, it is quite simple," Kirk responded. "She is... unused to combat as a whole, favoring to stay out of it. And she's... not exactly the most self-confident." Kirk suddenly shivered slightly. "She's close though. That aura is unmistakable."

Lol'th immediately perked up. "She came? I knew she would!"

Solaire immediately felt as though he was carry-along baggage. "Whom? Your aunt?" It was then he felt the aura. Dark, and powerful, but not oppressive. A slight chill touched his heart, and he would have swore his heart lightly crawled, as though it sensed danger, but the Chaos Siblings seemed to be calm, excited even, so he refrained from raising his blade. Waiting near the top of the ladder the party remained, with his brother conversing with a woman he had never seen before. He would swear by those words, for she was an unforgettable sight. Like Rhea, she was dressed entirely in white robes. Unlike Rhea, she was incredibly tall, barefoot, with hair as white as her soft dress cascading down her face. Also unlike Rhea, she bore an incredibly soft-looking tail coated in white fur.

 **Thomas**  
 **Painted World of Ariamis**

"You know, I expected a few things to be different. Especially when I learned that my fuckery extended to the past. I didn't expect this bossroom to be completely empty and open, though." The bossroom in question, of course, belonged to the Crossbreed, Priscilla. Technically speaking, it wasn't _completely_ empty. There was a chair, and a bonfire which, upon resting at it, he was immediately grateful. He just expected Priscilla to be here. "Let me guess. While I'm in the past, I manage to extradite her."

"Why, yes," Beatrice responded. "You also tried to teach her to utilize her powers as Lifehunter. She still isn't comfortable with it, but she has a degree of practice with it, though not total control."

"You make it sound like I was trying to turn her into a weapon," Thomas said cautiously.

"To an outside observer, it would seem such. But no. You were merely trying to teach her control. Her power of Lifehunt is dangerous, and without proper control can cause great harm to those around her."

"Good," Thomas said, deciding to sit in the chair. "So… out of curiousity, what exactly is keeping me from jumping this ledge, and exiting into Anor Londo proper? I can't help but think that this is an unfortunately low level of security for an alleged enemy of the gods."

"The same force that kept Priscilla here, apart from her own fears. Nobody can leave this prison without the aid of another who entered the Painting willingly."

"And you don't count?" Thomas asked. "I thought your entire purpose here was to test me."

"Well. Yes. I intended to reach you sooner, but Gwyndolin's been trying to round up the Heretic Friends of the ever so wicked false prophet for the past couple of centuries. He managed to get ahold of me, and now has you, presumably his most valued prisoner. With you locked away, he expects the resolve of your allies to bend, to break. He expects Sen's Fortress will leave them crippled and distraught, and that if all else fails, he has an army ready to face your friends."

"Psssht!" Thomas scoffed. "Please. His "army" of illusions only _look_ scary. Those giant warriors are slow, dumb, and telegraph their attacks way too hard. I daresay even Rhea could take one of them solo."

"Oh? Then how about the Blades of the Darkmoon," Beatrice countered. "The full force of Gwyndolin's loyal subjects from every world, drawn to your own, specifically to guard the Painting? An undying, eternal wave of warriors sheltered with the full power of the Dark Sun itself as they endeavor to strike you down."

The self-proclaimed Prophet gulped slightly. "That… That might be an issue."

"He's waiting for them. Watching. If they manage to get past the golem, Anor Londo goes dark, and will be on it's highest alert. Your friends will arrive there, and they'll be cut down."

Having heard enough, Thomas bolted out of his chair, heading for the ledge. "Not if I manage to get out of here first. Not if I stop him." With that, Thomas jumped, drawing his claymore on the way down. Assuming this worked, he'd have a fight ahead of him the moment he was out of the door. The wind in his face forced him to close his eyes, bracing himself…

When he opened them, he was at the bonfire in Priscilla's bossroom, Beatrice looking over him. "Foolish. Noble, that you would throw yourself into the line of fire before your friends even got to Anor Londo, but foolish, nevertheless. Didn't I explain getting out wasn't so easy?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 **Priscilla,**  
 **Sen's Fortress**

"Please. I mean no harm." Inwardly, Priscilla cursed her nature, and not for the first time. To those unfamiliar with her, her very presence caused alarm, and oft fear, in proxim to her power. She had long known his words to be true. That one's physical nature does not determine a person. An Undead is not a mindless husk. A god is not infallible. A Crossbreed Lifehunter is not an abomination. But even so, those words could do nothing to assuage the pain in her chest to again witness as people recoiled before her, as though she were something hideous and monstrous, to be feared… Maybe even destroyed. It was to be expected, perhaps, but still, that didn't make her suddenly enjoy being seen as the abomination. "My name be Priscilla. I am a friend of thee, good knights." Her scythe was with her, as ever, but with her holding it as a staff, with the blade pointed behind her, she dearly hoped it was not taken as a potential threat. Hoping to help with this image, she gave a small curtsy, though she trembled slightly.

One of them, a young woman clad in white, a bladed staff in her hands, stepped forward, albeit stiffly. She too, seemed unused to the weapon in her hands, as though the rigors of this land were unknown to her, and it was clear that approaching the Crossbreed made her nervous. "I am Rhea. Priestess…" She stopped, as though catching herself. "Former… Former Priestess to the Way of White. Wouldst thou be'st the guardian of this fortress? We seek passage, as to rescue a captive friend of ours. May'st thee let us pass?"

"A friend? Could'st thou mean'st Thomas-" Priscilla asked, only for them to get interrupted by a third party. Namely, her godneice springing seemingly from nowhere to give her an embrace.

"Aunt Priscilla! You came!" Lol'th practically chirped with cheerful energy.

In spite of herself, she smiled, returning the embrace delicately. "Of course I did. Where else woulds't I be?"

"Izalith, perhaps," Kirk supplied. "Presumably taking more much-needed lessons on self-control, as you had drained the life out of some poor unsuspecting sap. Accidentally, of course." Inwardly, and not for the first time, Priscilla wept for what the Abyss did to him. She remembered him in his childhood, and while he always held his father's candor, ne'er was he practically cruel with it, until his descent into Dark. Her arms tightened slightly around Lol'th, and a single tear fell from her cheeks. Kirk seemed to shake himself out of this, and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Apologies… That was a bit much."

Releasing Lol'th, Priscilla turned to the group, shellshocked by Kirk's words. "Tis true, I bear the curse of Lifehunt. Thomas was teaching me control, over time, but recently told me that I understood enough, and that he couldn't teach me any further. All I had left to learn could only come from time, and practice. One of their members, clad in strange, yellowing robes, stepped forward.

"Laurentius, a Pyromancer, hailing from the Great Swamp." He bowed slightly. Twas not a proper bow, but it was sincere, which Priscilla welcomed. "We've long been a land of outcasts and exiles, so allow me this chance to greet you, one outsider to another. What say you we work together to free our mutual friend. He said he was…" Laurentius trailed off, trying to remember.

"A Painting," the knight with the sun on his armor supplied. "A Painting in Anor Londo."

"I see," Priscilla said. "Then his warnings of what could have been, have indeed come to pass." Looking ahead, Priscilla gripped her scythe. "I must go home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN:  
So that took way too long, sorry. Y'all know how real life is. Please, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD criticize how I handled this. I've been agonizing on how to introduce Priscilla in this scene for the past few weeks. Onto previous reviews

Hitler's Moustache: Yeah, that's basically how Thomas has been reacting to this entire situation.

SoSlimShady: I've read other books, but yeah I won't lie, I've not really written anything serious before, so spacing is something I'm not too experienced in. I'll try to get better about it, but no promises.

BillyYumYum2X4: Dunno if you're still here, but yeah, I realized that a bit late. Fixing up the minor consistency errors, as well as making the first few chapters less fucking cringe, is on the agenda.

One Bored Critic: I'm flattered, truly. 


	22. Growth and Progress

22  
Growth and Progress

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 **Beatrice,**  
 **The Painted World of Ariamis**

Thomas was busy doing crunches when Beatrice saw him next. It wasn't because he was particularly a gym buff, mind. Back in the real world, he had been… inconsistent… with his workouts at his home, doing various little exercises more when he felt it would be convenient, which wasn't that frequent. But here, in the Painting, where all he had to do was wait, he saw no reason to put it off. Besides, as he reasoned to himself, this would be an excellent opportunity to determine his maximal stamina output, as well as potentially increase his Strength without using any of the Souls he had also been farming. "117," he grunted. "118… 119…. One… Twenty…" Upon hitting this, Thomas fell backward, panting, as he was unable to crunch any further. Mentally, he compared it with his records in other exercises here as compared to back on Earth. "Okay… Seems like my overall endurance has tripled in my undead state."

"What, exactly, do you mean?" Beatrice asked, startling the sorcerer.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't sneak up on me, but to answer your question, exactly that." Holding up fingers, Thomas started rattling statistics. "Back on Earth, the maximum number of crunches I could do was 40. Most pushups, 17. Most chin-ups, 13. As an undead, those numbers have tripled. 120 crunches, 51 pushups, 39 chin-ups. Probably child's play to anyone who bothered working out consistently on Earth. Whether these numbers are because I have gotten stronger as a whole, because of my undead physique, or a combination of the two is unclear, but this does explain why I've been lasting longer than I normally would have."

"I… see…" Beatrice commented slowly, dryly. "And the reason for you doing all this while not wearing armor is because…?"

His face turning a shade redder than usual, his first action was to slightly shift his body away from view. "How can I know the true limitations of my actual body if I have the weight of armor impeding my overall ability? I intend to perform further tests with heavier loadouts to see how my endurance is further penalized, but I need to have a base point to reference, first, you know." After a lack of comment from Beatrice, Thomas sat up, equipping his sorcerer pants as he did this. "So, what are you over here for, may I ask?"

"As you know, I know you from your future. Comparatively speaking, you are almost hopelessly green in a lot of ways. But the Thomas I know is far more proven with a much more extensive history of experience. This proves, if absolutely nothing else, that you are teachable. I can work with that. Ironically, you're ahead of me in what the first step is."

"Which is…" Thomas cocked his head to the side slightly.

"We need," Beatrice concluded, "to find your "base point of reference." What you've learned and achieved of your own right, as opposed to what you merely borrowed from your memories in your world."

Thomas folded his hands behind his back, pacing slightly with eyes cast downward. "I see. Deferring to your superior experience and knowledge in this affair, how do you propose we do so?"

"Oh," Beatrice chuckled slightly. "It's quite simple, really. Trials, tribulations, and growth through failure." With this, Beatrice unleashed her first attack; a massive bolt of Soul Energy, towards her new apprentice. In retrospect, the move wasn't entirely sporting of her, as it blasted his head clean off before he had much time to react, but the look on his face was just priceless. "Lesson one," she told him when he emerged from the bonfire. "Always be prepared for your opponent to take the first shot, and don't expect it to be fairly taken."

Thomas's response was swift. When he held his catalyst in hand, Beatrice wondered in bemusement if he had developed any of the sorceries she was familiar with him using by this point, raising an eyebrow when he went to swing his catalyst as though it were a hammer. The Soul Whip formed at the end as he swung, and if it weren't for her familiarity with his spell, she would have had no time to counter, dodging to the side as the rope of energy sizzled into the ground, before fading entirely. "Hm. So you have that one already. But if your swing is anything to go by, you're not used to people predicting this spell. Perhaps you rely on people not knowing what spells you have?" Flicking her wrist, she cast out her own tendril of energy, cracking against his hand. While the boy did yelp in pain, he at least managed to keep a grip on his staff. She could respect that. "You should know we've worked together for too long for me not to be aware of your tricks. Try again." Another swung whip. That irked Beatrice. "Or, perhaps… Cast a Soul Arrow. Doesn't matter what kind, just do it against the wall over there."

Frowning, Thomas cast, catalyst raised into the air as the energy gathered around his fist, and then fired forward. "All right," Thomas said. "Now…" his voice trailed off as Beatrice gave a disappointed sigh."

"It's probably to be expected," the heretical witch acquiesced, pinching her nose in her fingers, "but you're making the same mistakes as other novice casters. Let me show you a different Logic."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 **Kirk,**  
 **The Undead Parish**

 _Emerging from Darkness, his target in front of him. They tried to fight back but he was stronger. Breaking their guard, he struck, draining their Humanity. As he did, he had flashes: Their hopes, their dreams, their very souls and memories. He was taking everything that they were, shattering it in his hand_ _._ _Everything they were was no more. This person was just another Hollow for the pile._

Kirk woke with a start, startling Oscar, who had watch while everyone else rested. Silence, save for bonfire. Save for the _ping… Ping…. Ping…_ of Andre's hammer below. "You okay there?" Oscar asked, getting up.

Kirk waved it away. "Bad dream." _Worse memories,_ he thought to himself. Taking his helmet in his hands, Kirk looked at the spiked "face" of the helmet, his eyes dark. Oscar sat near the former Darkwraith, though not too close. Noting this, Kirk gave a light scoff. It was probably to be expected, that nobody would truly trust him. He had made _quite_ the name for himself while under Kaathe's "wing".

"Want to talk about it?" Oscar asked quietly. "Don't have to if you don't want to, but we all have our, ahem, demons to slay, as the expression goes."

Kirk's response was to give a brief chuckle, before rising, placing his helmet over his head. "Maybe I'll take you up on that offer. But not today. Today we push forward." Nodding in agreement, Oscar assisted with waking up the rest of the group.

As the party ascended the damnable fortress, watching for traps at any turn, Kirk once again cursed the insanity of the being known as "Sen" who designed the place. If he had his way, the entire place would be burned to the ground. But for now, it would have to do. Priscilla was an advantage this place hadn't accounted for, however. Her scythe was sharp, providing a more than suitable counter against the pendulums that swept over the narrow passageways. A single stroke, and a great cacophony would greet them as the severed slab of raw iron descended, falling into the pits below. Finally making their way outside, Rhea spoke, blinking in the sunlight. "Many thanks, Lady Priscilla. T'would be most troublesome navigating without thee."

Accepting the praise with a silent nod and shy smile, Priscilla pointed. "There. Just past this ledge. There be'th a bonfire, awaiting alightment."

Laurentius scoffed. "What kind of fools do you take us for, exactly?"

"Bigger than you realize," Kirk grumbled, before pushing past Laurentius, not minding that his barbed shoulder added an extra emphasis to his displeasure, before hopping down, and alighting the bonfire that rested below. As he kindled the flame, using the Rite of Kindling procured by his father in the past, he could sense the palpable relief of his comrades. "So. Shall we rest here a moment? Or shall we carry on?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 **Thomas,**  
 **The Painted World of Ariamis**

Channeling the sorcery within him, Thomas gave a swift flick with his catalyst, and a Soul Arrow fired from the end. It felt more natural. As Beatrice taught, his sorcerous tool felt more like an extension of his own mind, his own will. "I'd like to think I'm getting a hang of this."

"Right," Beatrice confirmed. "Now, what do you take away from this?"

He pondered, frowning in concentration. "That… the catalyst isn't where the spell comes from?"

"Yes."

"Hm… Then perhaps in theory, it's likely the same is true for miracles and pyromancy as well."

Beatrice's response was only to shrug. "I only know sorcery, so my thoughts on the other magicks are neither here nor there. Perhaps in an applied test, we can-"

"HERETIC," Gwyndolin's voice boomed in, and Thomas scowled.

"Great. We've got this nutjob again.

"Listen well, false prophet," the voice continued, as the god (or at least, his apparition) manifested before them. "Your little bag of vagabonds, assisted by your vile spawn and the wicked half-breed creature-"

"They have names, fuckface," Thomas interjected angrily. "Wait, half-breed… Priscilla's with them?"

"Irrelevant!" Gwyndolin boomed. "They have almost bested the fortress of the Sen, and need but face the golem to pass."

Thomas allowed himself a chuckle, before sitting on the ground. "So what I'm hearing is, you're even more powerless than I thought."

"On the contrary. I seek to break the wills of those poor fools, and for you to watch as they abandon you." A shimmer of distortion in the air, and a screen materialized before them. "Get comfortable. I wish you to observe them breaking."

Thomas merely shook his head. "With that many flags thrown, you're setting yourself up for failure AND embarrassment, but sure. I'll take the seat I'm already taking. Do your worst, unwanted child of a dead god."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
AN: JESUS CHRIST sorry for the delay. Life. That's all I can say right now. Well, that, and that for the longest time I felt like I hit a wall. Hopefully it isn't too obvious where, because I had a flash of inspiration and managed to storm past the wall and finish the fic in a single night after I finally got off my ass. Thanks are to be given to Aurlyn Dawnstone and mlee for beta-reading, and offering critique (as well as occasionally borrowing my own muse to help with an actual book they're writing. Fun fact, a much farther along in the future Thomas is going to be featured. Yep, he's a canonical character now. Not bad for a shitty self-insert. Anyways, onto answering reviews.

Thedudeist: Yeah people have figured out Thomas is the Watcher, but I have another twist involving the Watcher. Let's put it this way: The Watcher is also NOT Thomas. Time travel is fucky. And no, Thomas is going to get with Quelaag. He's not about to cheat on his future wife and risk not having his future kids save his sorry ass.

Echo: I discussed this with SupremeGamer, actually, and the idea seemed cool, but as they are, both stories are really better off separately. I might, if I get permission, feature a cameo scene like I did earlier in the fic that would ultimately contribute nothing to the story (like the bit with Oroboro. That won't mean anything. Or will it?), but that's about it.

Dazac: You know what, that's a good fucking idea. It's going in. Spoilers.

Noscopeabomb: Geeze dude. Almost tempted to throw a at you. Like holy shit that was a lot of support. Seriously, I appreciate it. Also I'm pretty sure you mean Mildred by the sink shitting, so I'll just say "she"

tylermech66: Yeah, I get what you mean about 2. It feels… marshmallowy, if you get what I mean. I've been playing other games though, recently. Monster Hunter: World, Destiny 2, to name a couple. Thomas may, MAY get ported over there into one of those worlds, after some other, prescheduled stops, including a visit with a celestial emissary from beyond the stars… And yeah, I really can't think of much for Thomas to do inside the painting. He's already looted the place dry, farmed a few levels offscreen (I mean do you really want to watch as he Chaos Storm's the same phalanx group a bajillion times or two?), and apart from checking his physical capabilities versus his mortal body, which I've done here, I really couldn't think of anything. At this point, I'm open to suggestions, but I will say this; at this point, Thomas would not be out of character swinging his sword around in open air attempting combat maneuvers against a shadowboxing enemy, and only cementing errors because he's training alone.

theawsomest5, Wanderer of Fortuna, atchoum35: Thanks! I was trying my best with Priscilla. And you raise a good point, Fortuna. With her stealth, and a lack of snow to give away her position, she's going to seem like an unstoppable menace to the Darkmoon Blades. But our trap-boy has other tricks up his sleeve, trust me. He's far from done yet. They'll face more than mere Darkmoon Blades.

Billyyumyum2x4: Yeah that's an error I'll have to correct sometime. I intend to go over previous chapters, remove some cringe, edit out some continuity errors (I've ditched the Pharis romance plot point, but may salvage it as an unrequited thing, perhaps, to make an example). But I'm going to prioritize the progress of the fic first.

Anyways. As Thomas has become more advanced in his spellcraft, I'm open to more advanced sorcery suggestions. Leave your suggestions below! 


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